


Felix Mori

by BabysNotaProp (SuzetteB)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Customer Service & Tech Support, Dean/Cas Big Bang 2019 (Supernatural), Death in Childbirth, Gang Violence, Happy Ending, Horny Hospice, It's a Hospice Home So Death is a Recurring Theme, M/M, Masturbation, Power Bottom Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, Stripper Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-24 15:43:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 90,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21340678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuzetteB/pseuds/BabysNotaProp
Summary: Dean is living the dream: he gets to help peopleandshake his ass, and he gets paid for it. Gabriel Milton’s horny hospice is a fun place to work, but sees its fair share of technical difficulties. When the front desk computer malfunctions, the burden to call tech support falls on Dean. The man on the other end has a voice that does things to him, and if he’s lucky, IT man Casjustmight feel the same way.The only thing that’s missing is his estranged brother. Dean wouldn’t have had to lie to him if it wasn’t for their deadbeat father, more obsessed with a life of crime than raising his own children. Even worse than the thought of never hearing from Sam again is the possibility of growing into someone who even vaguely resembles John Winchester, and that is a chance Dean simply cannot take.Come to think of it, maybe Dean’s dream life could use some healing after all.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dorothy Baum/Charlie Bradbury, Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak
Comments: 145
Kudos: 270
Collections: DCBB 2019, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Dean's dick twitches upon hearing Cas' voice for the first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, my first DCBB! This whole process has been fun, exhausting, stressful, but 100% worth it. I'm proud of this story and I hope everyone enjoys.
> 
> All art you see featured in this story was created by the amazing [interstitial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/interstitial/pseuds/interstitial)  
I am beyond grateful. Would you guys just look at these amazing works. Just friggin' look. I'm amazed. Bravo, you amazing artist you. You deserve ALL the accolades. Also on Tumblr here: [chiisana-sukima](https://chiisana-sukima.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And thank you [CastielsCarma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielsCarma/pseuds/CastielsCarma) for being my beta on this work. I also enjoyed reading all your commentary along the way (Yes, they really are idiots, aren't they).
> 
> Please note that this fic contains semi-NSFW art! Not completely nakey, but still might make your Aunt Bertha turn up an eyebrow if she peeks over her shoulder. I will post notes at the beginning of chapters that contain art. Chapter 1 is one of them, and is the same as on Tumblr.
> 
> Thank you to all of my readers. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I would love it if you left a comment to let me know you stopped by! Visit me on Tumblr here: [deans-jiggly-pudding](https://deans-jiggly-pudding.tumblr.com/)

Attempting to call for an ambulance was a regular occurrence amongst the residents at  _ Felix Mori _ Hospice Home, albeit prohibited. It was one of those rights signed away under the pretense of the establishment being... well... final-countdown, end-game hospice. Although death by orgasm was a hell of a way to go, it didn’t make it any easier of a place to work.

Still, Dean enjoyed his job.

His official title: exotic healthcare aide. It was a name only the perpetually inappropriate Gabriel Milton could pull out of his ass. The lucky bastard had somehow found a way to mix his two passions, elderly care and horniness, into a ludicrous business model. 

Dean might not have had a specific calling to assist the elderly, but he did like shaking his ass. He was no adonis, but he knew he was moderately good looking. Judging by the ladies’ reactions whenever he ripped off his tear-away scrubs, he was good at his work, too. And if he inspired some old fogies to retreat to their suite and carry out some newly-kindled fantasies… Well, that was none of his business.

“Oooh, and what might your name be?” a white-haired, bright-eyed lady asked from the comfort of her lunchroom chair.

Dean twirled his freshly removed scrub top in one hand as he settled onto her lap. She was a new resident, that much he knew, but was nowhere near sturdy enough to hold his full weight. Putting leg day at the gym to good use, he planted himself in place, while sparing her the brunt of his mass. 

He flashed a winning smile as he searched his repertoire of stage names. His regulars were in another wing, so he could take a break from the eternally cringeworthy Michael. In the dementia wing, he rotated between Ted Nugent, Bonzo, and Angus, depending on the day and resident. The cafeteria was new territory for him, which could only mean one thing: time to pull out a new name.

“Doctor Smith,” he said with a wink and a roll of his hips.

The other ladies at the table — and one wide-eyed man — let out their  _ oooh’s  _ and amused chuckles as  _ Felix Mori’s _ new resident grew more and more comfortable with someone dancing on her lap.

“Well,” she puffed, “I don’t know what you’re a doctor of, but I believe mine’s broken!”

The other residents erupted in a roar of laughter. It was such an overused joke, but Dean couldn’t bring himself to give critique, with as much fun as his table was having. Besides, it was the friggin’ dementia wing; one would have to be a heartless monster to discourage any type of interaction between the residents. 

So he grinned at her instead. Standing up with his legs on either side of hers, he stuck his thumbs under the scrub bottoms to tease her with just a bit more skin, right there at eye-level. The residents had just quieted down to casual small talk again, which would never do, not while Dean Winchester was at the table. He had to rile them up again.

“I’d be glad to take a look.”

His table began hooting and hollering once more. As soon as he stood back enough to step out of his scrubs, the elderly woman on the other side of the table began digging through her wallet. A pang of guilt coursed through him. He hated taking money from the residents. All retired folk with fixed incomes, they could be saving their dollar bills for grandkids and vending machine snacks.

Besides, Gabriel paid him plenty. Turns out, “horny hospice” was a ludicrous business model; one for which many were willing to pay dearly and travel halfway across the country. It was the first of its kind and pleasingly simple: making sure your loved ones die surrounded by what they love… bingo divine and sexy times.

Still in motion but distracted by the lady rummaging through her wallet, Dean glanced to the adjacent table to see one of the other aides end her lapdance abruptly. Her resident was grasping his chest, breathing hard, while slipping down his lunch chair. The aide, Lisa, pressed a button on her headset, disguised as a stethoscope, and spoke into it before taking the man’s hand and attempting to calm the other residents at her table.

Someone at Dean’s table noticed the disruption and tapped their neighbor on the shoulder. Dean groaned. 

“Help!” one of the women at the adjacent table yelped. “Call for help!”   
  


“What’s the number for 911?”

“Get a doctor!”

“He’s having a heart attack! I should know! Back in Vietnam…”

Once the woman Dean was on noticed the commotion, it was useless to continue. Everyone within five tables was asking a variant of “What’s going on?” and turning their heads. Scooping up his scrubs, Dean pressed down on his watch crown and spoke into it.

“Lock down the phones,” he said clearly, so the hospice dispatch would make out his request above the noise.

He put the watch face to his ear in time to hear a faint “Copy,” then began pushing empty chairs out of the way so  _ real nurses  _ employed at Gabriel’s establishment could get to the patient. With one last glance at the growing crowd, Dean retreated to his locker. This part of the job might be routine, but he didn’t have to like it.

_ Death.  _ That was the part of the job he didn’t like. 

He had seen too much of it before he got hired at  _ Felix Mori.  _ His life had been one big clusterfuck of saying goodbye to the only people he ever cared about, one accident after another, and now he’s supposed to be okay with it, all of a sudden? He’s supposed to watch as another old fogie succumbs to his own old age, when his relatives didn’t even get the chance to make it that far?

Hell no.

Within the minute he was in his locker and stuffing his scrubs into a duffel bag. The residents didn’t care if they were wrinkled, anyway. If any of them wanted to judge him for having rumpled up clothes, it’s not like they have room to talk. 

Dean closed the locker door to see his boss on the other side of it, wiggling his brows like the little shit he was. He kept his eyes up, but Dean still felt a little bit naked standing there in a neon pink thong. Clearing his throat, he leaned against the locker nonchalantly.

“Need something, Gabriel?”

“Maybe later, big boy,” his boss replied.

Dean never thought anything of Gabriel’s cheeky quips, and he never will. The guy was just cheeky in general and never meant anything by it. Still, he didn’t dish it out with just anyone, because not everyone could take it. Dean just happened to be one of the people Gabriel could sniff it out a mile away. It was one of the reasons Dean got the job.

“Just making sure you’re all good,” he continued.

“I’m fine,” Dean replied, perhaps a little too quickly.

“You wanna take a beat? Go have lunch?”

“I took a break at eleven.”

“Taco run, then? I’m starving.”

“Gabriel.”

“Yeah huh?”

“Please shut up. I said I’m fine.”

The boss man let out a long exhale from his nose, lips smashed shut to refrain from rebuttal. Dean didn’t care. He should be happy he’s even getting a “please.” 

Gabriel knew about Dean’s past from the application. It was long and wordy, required four reference letters, and the names of all living family members. That last part ended up being pretty damn sparse, and although it was mentioned in the interview, Dean successfully gave off the vibe of “do not bring up again.”

He might have known not to go there in particular, but apparently the whole “talking about feelings” thing still needed some work. That was fine. Dean would politely tell him to fuck off until he got the message.

“How about you drop off condoms at all the doors?”

Dean raised a brow. He knew what Gabriel was doing. The guy was the worst therapist, like, ever. Not that Dean had ever met one.

“The elderly are the highest statistic for sexually transmitted diseases,” he piped up after feeling the intensity of Dean’s glare. “By equipping them with protection, we can improve their quality of life in a way no hospice care ever has.”

“I know, Gabriel. It’s in the brochure.”

Boss man’s brow furrowed. “You memorized the damn brochure?”

“What? I was on break. I was bored.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes and pivoted to leave. “Why can’t you just watch porn like normal people?”

“Who says I wasn’t?”

With a shake of his head, Gabriel swatted his hand towards Dean as he strode down the Employees Only hall. “The basket is at the front desk.”

“Multitasking!” Dean hollered after him. “How many of your other exotic healthcare aides can read and jerk off to hentai at the same time?”

The boss was gone and his dignity was intact. It was a good day. 

The receptionist, Claire, was busy with a prospect resident and her family when Dean made it to the front desk, so he helped himself to the wicker basket of rubbers sitting prominently between Claire and the luggage trolley. He gave her and the visitors a polite smile as he bent over to pick it up, felt eyes on his ass, then realized he had walked all this way in his bright pink thong.

He felt a blush rising in his cheeks, but pushed it aside and left the front desk. To hell with it. Ole granny might as well know what she’s in for. He felt slightly more embarrassed on behalf of Claire, Gabriel’s first cousin once removed. Although she was twenty-two and all too familiar with the staff in their underwear, him being behind the desk might have been a bit too close for her comfort.

That space was  _ her  _ space, and she was outspoken about men in thongs, and very, very gay.

Still, he could hear disjointed praises concerning the aides coming from both her and the visitors, so he assumed all was well. It was her job to talk up the whole staff, even if she had a preference for the ladies. She was great at her job, but one couldn’t help but notice the twinkle in her eye when she brought up certain female aids she had crushes on.

He was too far away to hear them now, halfway down one of the residential halls. Two nurses pushed a gurney past him, and he stole a quick glance to see it was Mr. Bingley being escorted toward the Parkinson’s wing. Dean reached the end of the hallway and began slipping two condom packets into each dropbox. They were painted black and had plastic red flags affixed to resemble real mailboxes, but were fastened to the wall like one would see on closely-arranged townhomes.

It was touching to see the lengths to which Gabriel went to make a hospice feel more like a home. Instead of hospital beds, each resident was issued an adjustable Sleep Number bed. And why not? Both were capable of raising the sleeper’s head, but one was reminiscent of needles and IVs and pain, while the other was criminally comfortable. Also, Gabriel’s beds had to be sturdy enough for a good old fashioned fucking.

Dean heard the muffled moans of a happy couple behind door number 102. Humming to drown out most of it, he dropped off the condoms and hurried to the next suite. Mrs. Greene exited her suite just a few doors down and waved delightedly as Dean gave her an eyeful, blocked only by a wicker basket and scanty pink thong.

He waved back with a smile and got back to his duties. Step by tiny step, she trekked down the hallway, assisted by her walker and the Yorkie sitting thereon. That was another thing that made Gabriel’s hospice home so desirable: Pets were always welcome.

This place had everything nice that old folks could ever want. Lovely garden, entertainment, visiting vendors, friendly staff, and enough independence to make them feel at least ten years younger. This, plus a sex-positive space where it was nothing to speak of pussies, cocks, and all the ways to make them tingle.

It was a little slice of heaven.

Until someone collapsed of a heart attack and the phones were locked down. The first thing they always tried to do was call 911… the one thing they couldn’t do. The one thing no one in  _ any  _ hospice was allowed to do. Because if it’s their time to go, it’s their time to go.

But having a coronary while coming in your pants with Lisa Braeden on your lap? What a way to go.

It was the end of the residential hall, and Dean glanced up from the basket to read up on that week’s scheduled activities. The calendar was large — nearly six feet in width — and filled with options for any taste, from the most vanilla to the adventurous soul. The dry-erase marker was messy but legible and jogged his memory as he read the main attraction for tomorrow: Tantric Massage.

That was his gig. He made a mental note and returned the basket to Claire, who glared at him disapprovingly from behind the counter. Already fully aware of his nakedness, he grinned sheepishly, her icy stare making him realize how cold he was.

“Next time tell Gabriel to send Kaia,” she said shortly.

“The newbie, huh?” Dean retorted with raised brows. 

“I’d rather show  _ her  _ off than… whatever you’ve got going on over there.”

Dean shrugged. “The potential future resident didn’t seem to mind.”

“The  _ potential future resident  _ grew up in an era of repressed gayness punishable by a wide array of unpleasantries. I’ll give her a month before she realizes she’s a lesbian.”

“Bet?”

Claire smiled and put the basket on the luggage trolley. “Sure, why not? It’s your money.”

“We’ll see, kiddo.” Dean tapped his fist on the desk pensively. “Twenty bucks. I’m a reasonable man.”

“And a coward. Make it a hundred.”

Dean opened his mouth to attempt to talk her down, but was interrupted by Gabriel bursting dramatically through the employees only door. Perhaps he would reason with her later. Or perhaps not. After all, it was  _ her  _ money at stake.

“Claire, break time,” he announced, to which she pumped her fist and slid into her swivel chair to clock out on the computer. While she typed her password, Gabriel gave Dean a long-overdue up-and-down look and pursed his lips. “When are you going to put some clothes on?”

“When have you  _ ever  _ complained about me not having clothes on? Are you coming down with something?”

“You gotta leave something to the imagination, you clown.”

“Not if they forget my name as soon as I leave the room, I don’t.”

“Touche, but not so loud.” Gabriel swept his eyes across the foyer. “The residents don’t get our flavor of dark humor.”

“You’re assuming they can hear us. Hello? Hearing aids?”

“I keep my residents’ hearing aids in tip-top shape, thank you very much.”

Gabriel’s demeanor suddenly changed. Dean turned to follow his line of sight to spot Mrs. Greene moseying towards the dining hall with her walker and Yorkie. Step by step she closed the distance between the residential hall and her destination, never hurrying, ever content with the small hospice-issued contraption that allowed her so much freedom. Even her dog was visibly at ease and simply sniffed the air as she continued her long trek to the dining hall.

Dean gave her a flirty wink when her eyes wandered about halfway across the room. Gabriel had the decency to wait until she had her attention back on her walker before he motioned for Dean to follow him behind the desk. Claire was long gone, so Gabriel sat on the swivel chair and steepled his fingers.

“You’ve got tantric massage tomorrow,” he opened with. 

“And?”

“And,” he dragged out, as if expecting Dean to catch on before finishing. “You haven’t gotten waxed lately.”

“Four weeks. Pretty standard.”

“I need you to get it done today.” Turning in the chair, Gabriel jiggled the mouse to wake the computer up to the login screen. “Here, just schedule it online, while Claire’s gone.”

“I’m supposed to wait 48 hours after a wax to engage in rigorous physical activity.”

“Fine, then hop in a time machine and do it two days ago.” The keyboard clanked under his quick fingers. “Massaging someone’s prostate is not  _ rigorous physical activity,  _ sunshine.”

“It’s medically assisted sexuality, of course it’s rigorous. Why do you think I’m the number one choice for this tantric shit, anyway?”

Gabriel tapped the enter button with his right ring finger, bringing the desktop up and ready. “Just schedule the damn wax, Dean-O.”

“That’s Master Sexual Surrogate to you.” Dean took Gabriel’s place in the chair and brought up the internet browser. After plucking out the web address, he hit enter. “And don’t start bitching if I get ingrown hairs after I start grinding against grannies and grandpappies sooner than my aesthetician recommends.”

“Uh, Dean?”

“The antimicrobial cream only does so much against infection. You know these people piss their pants like, multiple times a day, right?”

“Dean.”

“Does their monthly rent include diapers? Because it should.”

“Dean!”

“I think I’ll get a brow wax this time, too. That cool with you, boss man?”

“Dean, the page didn’t load.”

Sure enough, the web browser gave an error message in bright red at the top left corner, with a big page of nothing beneath. Dean pressed enter again, careful to read through the beauty lounge URL to check for mistakes. Deciding to give it another chance, Dean exited the window and tried all over again. He took his time, pressed enter, and got the same error message.

“Yikes,” Gabriel muttered. “That’s not supposed to happen.”

“Huh,” Dean pondered. Crouching onto the floor, he checked out the many cords underneath the desk and determined that none of them were unplugged. Everything was on. The internet was just being a dick. “Guess somebody should call tech.”

“Good idea,” Gabriel replied, giving Dean’s shoulder a cordial pat. “Claire taped the number to the monitor. Have at it.”

It took a good three seconds for the suggestion to register. “Wait, what?” he backtracked, crawling out from under the computer. “What about Claire? Make her do it.”

“She’s on break,” Gabriel reminded with a shrug. “And we might need to use it before she gets back. We’ve had guests come in pretty sporadically for tours and we can’t log them in properly if the computer’s gone kaput.”

“Dammit,” Dean whispered, climbing back into the chair. Sure enough, Claire had cut out a piece of a sticky note, just wide enough to fit along the monitor frame, with the technical support number in bubbly, feminine handwriting. It had the word “tech” followed by an exclamation point with a heart as the dot, filled in with what looked like pink highlighter. The scrap paper was taped carefully to the black frame, not blocking anything on the screen.

Since when did exotic healthcare aides call tech support? He didn’t remember that being in the job description. It was a little silly, to be honest, sitting there in a neon thong obeying a nerdy voice on the other end telling him to plug cord A into slot B. He almost said no. He almost volunteered Claire for it, and that was that.

Almost.

But he had a bet to win, dammit, and he couldn't be inconspicuous around Claire when he was the last one she saw around her computer before it broke. No sir. This was a game of stealth. She might call off the bet if she sniffed out foul play, even when there was none.

“Fine,” he finally conceded, picking up the phone to the right of the monitor.

“Page me when it’s up again. Oh, and by the way, that’s a no-go on the brow wax.”

With that, Gabriel left Dean to the empty foyer and broken internet. Fucking fantastic. Sighing, Dean tapped each number too hard, halfway hoping he could break the phone keys too and throw the responsibility on someone else. Maybe Meg would do it. She was always on her phone anyway; she might enjoy sitting on her ass and listening to hold music while playing games.

_ “Thank you for calling Milton Partner Companies technical support. Your call is important to us. For Raphael and Company Genetic Preservation and Cloning, press 1. For Felix Mori, press 2. For —” _

Dean gave the prerecorded welcome message no more thought and pressed the 2 on the top of the landline keypad.

_ “For quality assurance purposes, this call may be monitored or recorded.” _

An awful flute solo rang through, warped by countless hours of playing on a loop. Disconnected piano notes clanged in the background, barely audible above the squawking woodwind. It was nine kinds of horrible, laughable really, but Dean had no choice but to patiently wait for any sign of a human voice.

This couldn't possibly be any worse than returning to the dining hall in the aftermath of that poor guy’s heart attack. Here he was hidden away, separated from panicked people and the time-of-death call. Right now, the biggest problem he had was scheduling a Brazillian wax.

“Tech support, this is Cas. HP5810 or HP5811?”

The voice coming through the other end stunned him motionless. His swiveling back and forth halted. His physical motions were replaced with his mind running ninety miles an hour, thoughts varying from “holy shit” to “damn I don’t even have a daddy kink but I’d call him daddy” and everything in between, including the repeating “what tech support nerd even talks like that?”

His distracted mind wandered. If this guy emitted this kind of energy over a freaking phone, what must he look like? Dean instantly imagined the Clark Kent type — glasses, unassuming, respects women — an absolute angel in public, but a freak once the clothes rip away.

That’s when dear ol’ Little Dean started waking up. One sentence from this guy and his dick was all ears. Of course. Of freaking course. And it had to happen when Dean was in nothing but a thin strip of fabric that showed off every bump and curve, every nuance that was his manhood. Great.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hello,” Dean coughed. “Sorry. I uh…”

“It’s alright,” the man dismissed. He sounded professional and genial; not at all aware that he was giving Dean a rapidly growing boner. “Is your computer a HP5810 or HP5811?”

Dean began panicking, unsure of where to look for such information. “Um, I’m not sure…? I don’t really know… I’ve never done this before.”

The tech support guy gave a small chuckle, and damn if Dean didn’t  _ blush  _ at that. “It’s alright. I’ll walk you through everything. What’s your name?”

“D-Dean,” he stammered. It was only after he answered that he realized he wasn’t being asked for personal reasons, as he heard four keys tapped in the background. The soft sound of the tab button was next.

“Alright Dean,” the man continued. “I’m going to need you to find the small white label on the mainframe.”

With a grunt, Dean knelt onto the scratchy carpet and stuck his head under the desk. He must have been a sight, ass in the air, bare except for the neon pink between his buttcheeks. It didn’t take long to find the huge computer box, but he had to squint to see the tiny print in the limited light. 

“HP5810,” he grumbled, steadying himself on one hand and using the other to hold the phone. 

Six more keystrokes, then a tab. “What seems to be the problem?”

“The internet isn’t working.” Dean took a moment to pull himself back up, adjusting his stretched thong before sitting in the chair. The foyer was still empty, and very quiet, apart from the 1950s music lightly gracing the space. “Tried typing in a web address and it gave an error message.”

“What was the error message?”

“Uh,” Dean glanced at the short red message in the top left corner. “503 Service Unavailable.”

“Hmm,” the deep-voiced man hummed while typing. “Okay Dean, I’m going to need remote access. Click on the Start menu.”

Ah ha, the Start menu. Dean knew that one. Everyone knows that one.  _ Click.  _ “Okay.”

“Go to All Programs.”

Dean searched the pop-up screen and found the correct tab. He clicked on it and a larger drop menu appeared. “Now what?”

“Click on ‘internet’.”

The tasks seemed simple, and Dean began to wonder why he hadn’t volunteered for this sooner. Of course, it’s not like he knew the man on the other end had a voice hot enough to melt iron and rough enough for the salon to use as a pumice block. After he clicked on the internet tab, a new window popped up with more complicated choices.

“Now what?”

“There should be a bubble for ‘technical support’ and a blank space for a code.”

Dean clicked on the correct bubble and tabbed over to the code entry space. Look at him, pressing tab instead of using the mouse.  _ He’s so tech savvy. _

“I’m ready.”

“The following in all caps. P as in Peter. C as in Charlie. P as in Peter.”

This guy was just reeling it off, as if his voice wasn’t responsible for the dick engorging in Dean’s lap. It strained against the fabric, curving towards his belly and threatening to peek out if he couldn’t get his horniness under control. One by one he capitalized the letters, wondering if his seductive tech support man could hear the typing as clear as Dean could hear his.

What was the guy’s name, anyway? He had said it at the very beginning. At least, Dean was pretty sure. He wasn’t really paying attention by that point, to be honest. He was too engrossed in wondering how that voice would sound without the phone static, right behind his ear, with his cock plowing into him.

“Ready for more?”

“Hell yes,” Dean let the fluid words flow before he realized how carnal he sounded. Pushing aside the thoughts that weren’t helping the situation in his thong, Dean cleared his throat. “Um, yep. Yep, I’m… I’m ready for more letters. Or numbers. Or both. Whatever. Alphanumeric…ness.”

Dean heard a short, sharp breath, which he could only assume was the man letting out a stifled laugh out of his nose.

“Alright, Dean. So far you should have P, C, then P. The last P is the start of the word Protection. I just need you to spell out the rest of the word in lowercase letters.”

“PC Protection,” Dean repeated. 

“Yes.”

“Got it… Carl?”

The man laughed. “Close, but no.”

Dammit. It was a one-syllable, uncommon name. “Curt?”

“Mmm, colder. Go back to the C-A’s.”

Dean’s dick twitched at the way he said  _ mmm.  _ Man, he shouldn’t be having thoughts like this for anyone, much less some random dude he’s never even met. What if the guy is a serial killer? What if he has like, seven nipples? What if he’s somehow related to him?

“Cal?”

“No.”

“Cap? Like Captain America?”

“I wish.”

Dean suppressed the knee-jerk reaction to play to that. A smile leaped upon his face as he realized he hit somewhat of a nerve bringing up a superhero. Maybe Tech Support Dream Boat wanted to be Captain America. 

No.

Maybe Tech Support Dream Boat wanted to fuck Captain America.

The last sound of his name trailed off at the end. Not a hard sound like K or T, but something soft like L or F or… S.

“Cas?”

“Bingo.”

Dean leaned back in the swivel chair in victory. “Cas the tech support guy!”

“That’s me.”

His responses were short but didn’t sound that way. They weren’t clipped or curt, but warm and simple. And yet, still detached enough for Dean to know he must have a plethora of people flirting with him over the phone, all day long.

Of course, that was never going to stop him.

“I mean, I can still call you Cap if you want?”

“Oh,” came Cas’s shy chuckle. “That’s… that’s okay.”

Dean’s next suggestion came more domineering than he anticipated. “Or you can call me your Cap. Y’know, whichever you prefer.”

“Captain Dean, then?”

“Nah man, Captain America. That’s what you wanted, right?”

A moment of silence over the line. “Are you done typing the word?”

Man oh man, Dean could make a joke or two about the word Protection. He wanted to so badly. But he didn’t want to push Cas too far. The poor guy was already frazzled, most likely from Dean’s unfamiliarity with troubleshooting even more than his flirting. Dean wouldn’t try his luck.

“Yep, all typed out, Cas.” His voice had gone back down to business-only mode, which saddened him a little, but he tried not to overthink it. This was the most fun he’d had in the entire time he’d worked at  _ Felix Mori,  _ including the time Eustice Blanche took off her blouse and danced topless with the staff girls in the bingo room.

“Now click ‘enter’, and when a smaller window pops up, click on Allow Remote Access.”

“M’kay.”

This was stupid, anyway. Why the hell was he trying to get anywhere with a friggin’ tech support guy? He’s…  _ a tech support guy.  _ Someone on the phone. Impersonal. Faceless. Not really there. Heads and shoulders above him by way of intellect, probably gives to charities, and totally not into exotic healthcare aides.

Dean wasn’t ashamed of what he did for a living… not even a little bit. But when he pictured himself getting with someone, he always assumed it would be someone on a similar wavelength. Ramen for lunch and dinner, splurge with popcorn and a matinee, and spending the rest restoring a classic car that deserved everything good in the world.

Not the eat-out-every-weekend, paid-off-the-car-in-a-year type. Not someone so smart he probably got his bachelor’s in two-point-five years. Not someone like Cas.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before Cas spoke again. It was probably thirty seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Why he was allowing himself to get worked up over a five-minute conversation, he might never know. But he rejoiced at the sound of his voice again and mourned the fact that their talk would soon end.

“There,” Cas concluded with one last of many clicks. “That should do it. Before I end the screen-sharing session, I’m going to get you to test out the browser.”

Dean meant to say  _ yeah  _ or  _ okay  _ or you  _ got it handsome _ but nothing came out. His mind was someplace else, where faces match the voices and phone bills aren’t a thing and dreams come true. He did, however, have the composure to click the web address bar and type out the salon name dot com. He hit enter hard. 

The page loaded.

“Yahtzee.”

“Indeed,” Cas replied with a few more keystrokes. “Always a relief when it’s a simple fix.”

“Damn, that was an easy one?”

“Oh yes. The more complicated ones last far longer and require a lot more reaching. More on your end than mine.”

“Hmm,” Dean hummed. So this was it. End of the line. Why did that sound so damn sad?

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Dean?”

_ I have a few things in mind. _

“That’s it, bud. Thanks a bunch. I can schedule my appointment in peace now.”

“Very well. Have a lovely afternoon.”

With that, the voice dark as coffee and thick as molasses ceased, and the phone call ended. Slowly Dean returned it to the receiver with a soft click. When he looked at the screen he saw a small window with three words:

Share Session Ended

He clicked the X on the corner and stared at the loaded salon page. He didn’t read any words, he didn’t move the mouse. He didn’t even swivel in the chair. He just… sat there.

He imagined Cas going right to the next call, unaware of what he just did to Dean. Not giving him another thought ever again, just treating it like any other of the hundreds of calls he gets every day from the Milton family’s employees. Why would he? Sharing that delectable voice with no face to match was his job.

But to Dean, that just added to his mystery. It was up to him what Cas looked like — whether his eyes were dark as onyx and amber, turned gold when illuminated by the sun; or ferociously ice blue like the Arctic ocean; or perhaps emerald green with flecks of brown, like fawns lounging contentedly in a vast meadow.

He could imagine his hair. Was he blond? He didn’t sound like one, but Dean liked to pretend anyway. Maybe he had curls like circa 1970 Robert Plant, or straight long hair like Tom Petty. Perhaps he had raven black hair, or rich brown like the healthiest soil, or maybe he was a redhead. All fire and sparks and defiant against every other hair color in nature.

What about his body? Holy hell, this was going to be a fun one. Cas probably looked like he was sculpted by the gods themselves. He tried to imagine different body types on Cas but kept getting stuck on his favorite: strong enough to pin him against a wall, but not bodybuilder status. Broad shoulders, waist not as thin as in the movies, and thighs that could smash a watermelon.

Dean smiled to himself a little, then blinked away the vision as he realized he still hadn’t scheduled an appointment. Moving quickly, he checked availability and settled for an aesthetician he hadn’t been with yet — someone named Charlie — assumed it was a guy, and booked the appointment. A click here and a click there, and he was done. And his boner had even gone down… mostly.

“Ahem,” a feminine voice cleared her throat directly behind him.

Swiveling the chair just enough to show his face, Dean faced Claire. Her purse was over her shoulder; she held a paper bag from the taco joint down the street in one hand and a large fountain drink in the other. He was almost positive she couldn’t see his crotch and all the way positive she didn’t want to look, but it was still obvious he was mostly naked.

“You’re in my seat,” she stated flatly.

Dean glanced back at her “desk” of sorts, taking it all in — not because he hadn’t noticed, but to be that much more dramatic. He dragged his head back around and shrugged.

“I had to book an appointment.”

“In my chair. In underwear with not enough fabric on it to cover my head.”

“Well, you do have a big head.”

“You probably rubbed fecal matter all over it. Get off!”

“Fecal matter?” Dean guffawed. “Who actually says ‘fecal matter’?”

“Gross. I’m going to get carpet cleaner from the janitor’s closet.”

“There isn’t ‘fecal’ — I keep myself clean, for your information.”

“If I give you one of my tacos, will you go away?”

Dean swallowed and glanced at the bag, only now realizing how hungry he was. His stomach twisted into a knot with the knowledge that he hadn’t eaten since seven A.M. 

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

Claire smirked and set her things down before heading off to the janitor’s closet. Dean used the extra time to tug at his thong a bit, making sure Little Dean wasn’t going to make any more guest appearances. It was easier now that he was starving and scolded and soon to get his pubic hairs ripped out.

Returning with a red spray bottle and white rag, Claire was pleased to see Dean had already gotten up. “Alright then. Thanks for holding down the fort, I guess.” She tilted her head towards the brown paper bag. “Dig in.”

Dean peeped into the bag before selecting the wrapped taco on top. “Thank goodness. My stomach is about to digest itself.”

“I know.”

Pausing from unwrapping the taco, Dean furrowed his brows. “Huh?”

Claire gave the swivel chair a hefty spritz and rubbed it with the rag. “I haven’t seen you eat all day. I bought an extra taco for you, dumbass.”

Dean’s lip twitched up in surprise before he gave his taco an endearing look, then glanced back up at Claire. She was too focused on cleaning  _ fecal matter _ off the chair to look back at him, but she smiled even as he stood there speechless.

“Don’t thank me,” she said. “People shouldn’t be thanked just for keeping other people from being hungry.”

So Dean nodded instead, and did a salute of sorts with the taco before leaving. Unwrapping it as he walked down the employees only hall, he went over what he still had to do that day, while pondering Claire’s attentiveness. She really was a great kid. She just had a peculiar way of showing it.

The first bite felt like the heavens had opened up. Choirs were singing. Tastebuds were ringing. Cheese and lettuce were falling everywhere. As soon as it hit his stomach, regardless of the actual nutritional value, he felt instantly revived. He could keep going. The rest of the day was going to be his bitch.

He scarfed the rest down like a hungry, hungry caterpillar. After opening his locker, he balled up the wrapper and stuffed it somewhere in the corner. Stepping into his civilian pants, he checked the time on his watch and remembered Gabriel wanted to be paged. He threw on a t-shirt and pressed his watch crown twice in quick succession, making it buzz against his wrist to signal the delivery.

Dean never really expected texts after work, but he checked anyway. Not a single message or voicemail. That was fine with him. More attention just meant more to worry about outside of work. The only bummer was that he wasn’t hearing from Sam, the one living person he even cared to keep in contact with.

His watch buzzed back. Dean glanced at the watch face, waiting for the hands to point to the number coinciding with whatever short message Gabriel had programmed into it. Dean had memorized all the codes on his first day, to his boss’s delight and his workmates’ eyerolls. The paging system was effective: Dean pushed twice just to get Gabriel’s attention, usually at his request, such as this instance. Gabriel sent back a response.

It was fast. No flowery business talk. No group emails. No bullshit. Dean liked it.

If the clock hands struck 1, the message was “OK.” If they struck 2, it was “Thank you.” For 3, “Meet at front desk.” For 4, “You’re late.”

Dean’s watch hands did not strike any of these numbers. No, the little shit sent those hands to 5, which stood for “Took you damn near long enough, asshat.” Adjacent to 4, but with more pizzazz. Dean never saw the point in having a 5 if 4 would do, but now here he was, a victim of page number 5. The bastard.

His fingers went to furious work on his phone, then sent the text to Gabriel before he could check for errors:

** << Tech said it was a fast, easy fix. Then Claire came back and had to cleanse her chair of my ass molecules before she could resume her shift. But go off, I guess.**

The three dots faded in and out, over and over, until Gabriel’s unamused reply came through.

**>> Ass molecules? Actually, nvm. I don’t wanna know.**

Well, that was enough social interaction for one day. It was time to get waxed and then get his sold records to the post office before they closed. Business was booming for anyone willing to sell their first press records, and to the classic rock collector, no price was too high for a truly rare piece.

It broke his heart a little parting with things his father loved so dearly, but the electricity couldn’t run itself, right?

Sure, they reminded him of his dad. But Dean couldn’t figure out whether the feelings those memories were mostly good or bad, so he decided to play it safe. Everything seemed better than it was once someone was gone. His father was an ass. If there was an award for Most Hands-Off Single Parent, he’d win it every year.

But his father also tried his best. He had his best interest in mind, he’s so sure of it. Why wouldn’t a father do that? Try their hardest?

Dean was not a father. If he had it his way, he never would be. Because he had no experience caring for a child that wasn’t his brother, he figured he had no room to talk. They said _ your whole life changes.  _ They said  _ certain things you’ll never understand until you have kids.  _ Dean believed it. And he feared it.

He couldn’t understand why his father did the things he did. Part of him never wanted to understand.

If he understood, that might have meant he turned into the man that left him so many times.


	2. Everybody look out. The sexiest firefighter alive is ON THE POLE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains art.

Dean couldn’t remember the last time a wax went so smoothly. This Charlie gal really knew her stuff, plus she knew how to keep the conversation going. Having a girl rip out his pubes was far less awkward than he originally thought, but it was likely due to her expertise and professionalism.

“Got any plans for the rest of the day?” she asked after a strip near his leg joint.

Dean winced at the pain. The front was always the worst part. “Gonna go home and nuke a TV dinner. Sell some stuff online. Got a big day tomorrow.”

“Oh? Where do you work?”

Charlie’s wooden stick spread the warm, thick wax across another section before tapping on a cooling one. Dean braced himself. “ _ Felix Mori _ down on Lebanon Street.”

“Ah,” she cooed as she tore off the cooled strip. “That horny hospice place.”

Dean smiled to himself. “Yep, ‘that horny hospice place.’”

“It’s probably very rewarding caring for the elderly.”

“You betcha. And in my line of work, it’s a hell of a good time.”

“I bet,” she chuckled, laying down another goopy stripe. “If I ever get put in an old folks’ home, that’s the kind of place I’d want to be.”

“You and me both, kiddo.”

Another quick pull, another section of hair gone. “My girlfriend disagrees. She says she wants to die in her home like the stubborn mule she is. I told her since she has no friends, she’ll probably be found rotting in her rocking chair after three weeks, found by neighbors who are wondering why her mail is piling up, or from reports of a strange odor coming from her house.”

Dean laughed at her deadpan tone. This was obviously a discussion she had previously attempted to have with her significant other, if her inflection was any clue. When he ran through it again, he realized she used the word  _ girlfriend  _ which made him relax in her presence all the more. She wasn’t giving off an uncomfortable vibe to begin with, and he was used to being naked… but there was something very vulnerable about putting his legs in a butterfly position and trusting someone with a pot of hot wax.

“Drag her up there sometime, come check the place out. Just tell ‘em you’re touring on behalf of your bedridden great aunt and they’ll treat y’all like royalty.”

Charlie hummed thoughtfully. “Good idea. I’ve always wanted to get a tour there, but I just assumed they don’t take us youngsters seriously.”

“Tricks of the trade,” Dean said. He was feeling less pain as she continued waxing, as she had already gotten the worst parts over with first. “I work early mornings, mostly. If you come for the tour you’ll probably see me in action… That is, if my hoards of fans will let you through.”

She giggled. “We will definitely make it a point to visit, although we might get distracted by some of the ladies.”

Dean was definitely going to book Charlie again. She was fast, efficient, and easy to talk to. “What’s her name?”

“Dorothy, but everybody calls her Dot.” After the last section in the front, she tossed yet another goopy wooden stick into the trash amid a rapidly growing pile of goopy sticks. “Cannonball.”

At that queue, Dean curled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. Some of his workmates hated this part, but he always found it strangely soothing. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as the front, plus it was nice to know those annoying hairs around his asscrack were going bye-bye.

“Sounds to me like Dot is a handful.”

“Oh, she is.”

“Tell me some redeeming qualities. She can’t be a hundred percent hard-headed.”

“Oh, but she is,” Charlie said with a smirk. “Unfortunately for her, so am I. As for redeeming qualities, well, there are a lot of those, too. She can run in heels, which is like, a superhuman ability. She saves me the best piece of everything: brownie, lasagna, cake.”

“She gives you the piece with the flower?”

“Always.”

“Keeper.”

“Yep,” she agreed, spreading wax once more. “Her idea of the best date ever is — listen to this — popcorn and a movie at home, on the couch.”

“Cheap date,” Dean noted. Charlie pulled off the wax quickly, followed by another spread further in his cheeks. “Which gives you more money to spend on spoiling her.”

Charlie pointed a used stick at him before tossing it in the trash. “Exactly. Now don’t get me wrong, she’s a total adrenaline junky. Skydiving, roller coasters, the works. But when it comes down to it, she likes to be back at home.”

“What about you?”

“Skydiving, not a chance,” Charlie guffawed. “I’ll go on most roller coasters. But enough about me. Tell me something about you… that doesn’t have to do with work.”

Now that had Dean stumped. What was there to say? As far as he was concerned, he was a pretty boring guy. No roommate, no dates in sight, and what was left of his family was avoiding him like the plague. He was all work and no play. Did that make him a dull boy?

“I have a record collection.” It was slowly diminishing starting tonight, but it was the only thing that came to mind. He was proud of it and quite rightly so. His dad had good taste in music.

“What kind of music do you collect?”

Dean’s heart sank. Each piece would be someone else’s soon. But he would enjoy the complete collection while he had it. “Got some Def Leppard, a couple of Rolling Stones first pressing. Even have a Led Zeppelin misprint.”

“Are misprints super valuable?”

“They can be. You just gotta know—” he stopped himself from saying  _ how to sell them _ and went with “—where to look.”

“Hmm,” she hummed. “Not really your genre, you don’t know where I can find some Sinatra, do you? He’s Dot’s favorite and her birthday is coming up.”

Dean mentally thumbed through the dozens of boxed records sitting on his kitchen table. He was positive he had seen Frank Sinatra at some point. In fact, he had several of his records, which was more than he could say for the average antique shop in town.

“I might have a couple back at home I could sell you.”

“Dude, that’s your beloved collection. I’m not making you part with those!”

“Eh,” he shrugged. “Not really my taste. Just hand-me-downs from my dad.”

Charlie fell silent for a second. She was biting the inside of her lip, clearly in deep thought. “Alright, fine. You’re done, by the way.”

Dean had to glance up at the clock to make sure he wasn’t imagining how quickly the time went by. After he relaxed his legs, Charlie left a hand towel over his lap and left the room so he could get dressed in peace. By then the salon knew Dean’s appointments were covered by a house account, so he waved the receptionist goodbye and went home.

His dad’s 1967 Chevy Impala made some weird noises along the way, but she made it home. Dean needed to get the old thing looked at, but classic car upkeep was expensive. Besides, he was putting any extra money into savings, as he was hoping to put a down payment on a condo soon. The whole  _ rent going up every year  _ thing was getting old.

Following a gourmet microwaved Salisbury steak, Dean leaned over an open box of records and sighed. He wasn’t looking forward to this part. Starting at the front, he peeped briefly at each cover until he found what he was looking for: the Beatles Yesterday and Today album. How his dad got ahold of the butcher cover was beyond him, but there was no point in dwelling on it. Dean was looking at next month’s rent.

He snapped a few pictures and listed it online, deciding on the auction setting after seeing how much similar ones were going for. He set the “buy it now” option for an outlandish price, just for the hell of it.  _ Who knows,  _ he thought,  _ maybe I can catch some old geezer with no patience and an affinity for expensive shit. _

The night was young but he was exhausted, so instead of staying up, he put on a movie to fall asleep to. He dozed off on the couch but woke up at three in the morning with a crick in his neck. That was going to be fun, giving tantric massage after sleeping wrong. At this point, he was the one who needed a rub-down, and not just in his neck and shoulders.

It was a nice thought to fall asleep to, and he smiled as he hit the sack imagining firm hands on his body, working out the kinks. He didn’t have a specific person in mind, just that they handle him with unyielding strength and whisper sweet nothings in his ear in the deep, assertive voice he heard on the phone that day. For whatever reason, the memory of Cas’ voice was comforting enough to put him right to sleep.

——

Dean washed his hands after his last client, seriously considering asking Gabe for extra hours. He had no other plans for the day, besides putting up listings for another record or two. Instead of paging him, Dean decided to check on his Beatles listing. He signed into his account to find a message with “best offer” in the subject line.

It simply read, “$600?” 

“Not a chance in hell,” Dean said under his breath before politely declining the offer. The bids were quiet, as was typical for the first few days, but he wasn’t worried. He had a good feeling. If he struck gold on this first listing, he would likely gain followers, which would better his chances of selling in the future.

Before wandering the halls in search of his boss, Dean decided to put on his scrubs. His nether regions were still sore and red from waxing, and he didn’t feel like exposing himself to more airborne germs than necessary by walking around half naked. He gave his watch crown two fast squeezes, and had hardly enough time to walk back into the common area before he felt a buzz in reply.

He looked down at the watchface. The hands pointed to 3: Meet at front desk.

Dean rounded a few corners before coming face to face with a crowd of people, mostly elderly, but all unfamiliar. His brows creased in confusion. Where did they come from? Were they all being admitted at the same time? Was there a great migration from retirement center to hospice home?

As he approached the front desk, he caught sight of Claire, a hot mess of answering phone calls and arranging tours. One of the gray haired ladies visiting, a short thing who kept telling her to speak up, leaned on her cane patiently as Claire tried her best to create calm out of chaos.

A half dozen men with their pants pulled halfway up their waists laughed about a clique of “cackling broads” standing nearby. One of the men wore a newsies hat and seemed too distracted by Jo to contribute to the conversation. In his defense, Jo was looking mighty fine in her racy maid outfit, and winking at him from across the foyer, no less. If anyone could get an old man excited about hospice, it was her.

The group of elderly women kept taking pencils from the sign-in station, forgetting they put them in their pocketbooks, then taking more. One of them spotted Dean and blushed, turning to her friends and saying something. The rest of them gawked at him conspicuously, then shielded their mouths to whisper amongst themselves.

Dean took a few more steps, enough to glance out the front doors, and he had his answer. Right outside sat a massive bus, specially designed for wheelchair accessibility and catered to the elderly. 

So abuzz was the front desk that Dean almost didn’t notice Gabriel running around like a headless chicken. He was taking a newly printed sign-in sheet to Claire, greeting more visitors as they trickled in, and giving orders to employees as they approached him. Apparently Dean wasn’t the only one he had paged.

“Ketch, thank god. I need you to take ten of these folks and start their tour in the dining hall. Lisa, can you and Jo do a sweep and make sure the halls are clear for wheelchairs? Ah, Dean-O.”

Pressing through the assemblage of staff, residents, and visitors, Dean sneaked behind the front desk to get into earshot. The space just beyond was so loud he could barely hear himself think, not to mention claustrophobic. He couldn’t even remember the last time this place was so busy.

“Would someone mind telling me what the hell is going on?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Gabriel said with a stressed shrug. “We were so quiet you could hear a pin drop, then the next thing I know there’s a tour bus parked outside, no warning.”

“What do you need me to do?”

Dean was expecting an off-the-wall task like checking the functionality of the elevators, but pleasantly enough, his boss had the coherence to assign him a job no one else could do better. “Upstairs. Dance hall. Get on the pole.”

“Yes,” he hissed under his breath, pumping his fist as he turned to wade through the crowd.

“Lucky,” Samandriel teased with a gentle elbow jab as Dean passed him.

“I’m gonna come watch,” one of the staff ladies called after him. A tiny smirk crossed his cheek. Damn thirsty co-workers, always did enjoy a show. He couldn’t help his sex appeal. Working here he could take full advantage of it, and he couldn’t deny how much he liked having an audience.

Gabriel was smart putting him on the pole. Dean really was the best in the house.

Now then, what to wear? He rushed out the back door and opened his car trunk, rummaging through a box of extra outfits especially for fun stuff like this. He grabbed a black thong for the grand finale and worked backwards. Navy blue booty shorts with two small white stripes on each leg… What outfit were those for again? Police? No, not likely. Sailor? Nope…

He stumbled across a pair of red suspenders. Oh…  _ that’s  _ what it was for. Grinning as his memory filled in the blanks, he delved into the box to search for the rest of the components.

“Always wanted to be a firefighter,” he thought aloud.

——

The first and second tour group were refusing to leave. It was getting cramped in the dance hall but Dean was none the wiser; all he knew was the room full of smiling faces and the way his body moved to the music. It was the only room where he was allowed music other than the horrid 40s and 50s bops flooding the rest of the house on repeat, and for that reason, it was his favorite room.

He had done this long enough to trust himself with the beat of the music. It took years of practice, a metric fuckton of physical discipline, and a heaping helping of intuition to dance like Dean danced. He made it look far easier than it was; his workmates had videoed him at his own request, so he knew it was so. He rehearsed and rehearsed until it was so.

With every rotation around the pole, he entranced his audience further. He climbed, held on by the power of his thighs, and let go just enough to glissade down at a maddeningly disciplined pace. He was in total control of his movements. He owned that stage. The pole was his instrument, and his body a mastered work of art.

With every tour group that came in, another article of clothing got tossed to the stage floor. The helmet didn’t last long, as he twirled it around his fingers when the first crowd came in just for show. His fireman jacket was unbuttoned to begin with — a tease of chest and stomach for the whole first song. It was hard to dance in, so it was a relief when the second tour group arrived.

The ladies cheered when that awful jacket came off, which is also when he began doing tricks on the pole. It was so much easier without sleeves. His red suspenders strained against his chest as he arched his back, twisting around the pole like a helix. The dimmed light and wildly colored bulbs added to the atmosphere, and he tried not to laugh when he heard a visitor loudly complain, “Turn the dang lights on, I can’t see the hot fireman!”

“Fast cat,” another commented, which Dean assumed to be a good thing.

The door opened to let in the third wave of people, and Dean took a few steps away from the pole to slip his fingers under his suspenders. Sliding his deft fingers underneath the fabric, he teased the skin of his shoulders, chest, and sides of his stomach while the captive audience watched. Even his steps could turn heads as he kept in time with the heavy throb of the music.

One song seamlessly flowed into another as he turned around to unclip his suspenders. The circular stage had viewers on every side, but Dean knew how he wanted this to go. Show a little here, give an eyeful there, and don’t forget the shy ones in the corner. Slowly he pulled one suspender down his arm, then the other, shrugging out of them before taking the back strap in hand.

These bad boys were Y-shaped in the back, which now that he thought about it, were one of the reasons he liked them so much. Normally, suspenders would have a clip on the back, but these were no ordinary suspenders, and that was no clip in the back. 

_ Thhhrrrraaappppp _

Velcro sputtered as he pulled the rest of the suspenders off his skin-tight navy shorts. Sauntering across the stage at his leisure, he swung the suspenders loosely as he searched for a fully prepared recipient. Most everyone was at least paying attention, but he didn’t want to throw them into the wind with the possibility of it hitting an unsuspecting victim. 

No, he was shopping for someone specific. He needed the groupie type. Someone who went to one too many Led Zeppelin concerts and threw her bra at Robert Plant on more than one occasion. One that could decipher the look in Dean’s eye and the swirl of his suspenders beyond the shadow of a doubt. Someone who wanted them and was willing to show it.

The fourth and final tour group poured in, pressing the first three even closer to the stage. Several women pushed their way to the front, raising their hands and tapping the stage. They leaned on it, batting their eyes at Dean as he made eyes with each one. He kept promenading to and fro, even stopping to twirl on the pole once before coming back around. The more he teased them, the more desperate they became. How much longer should he make them suffer?

“Me, please,” one of them said with both hands in the air.

“Over here!” another pleaded, reaching as far as she could across the stage.

Some of the men joined in the fun too, hooting and hollering when Dean walked their way. It was such great fun, seeing a generation twice removed from him enjoying themselves instead of wasting away on the sofa watching reruns of Days of Our Lives. It was times like this Dean remembered why he loved this job so much. Why he could never go back to a regular club, even with the promise of tips.

Suddenly, a flash of fabric went up, and before he could avert his eyes, his suspicion was confirmed. One of the visitors was exposing herself. He couldn’t help himself from grinning this time, which delighted the ladies around the front to no end, and as he approached the edge of the stage with his suspenders, he recognized her as one of his admirers at the front desk.

Her “thank you” was hard to hear above all the laughing and cheering, but her shirt was back down, which is all Dean cared about at that point. He left the ladies to their devices as he got back into the groove, swinging around the pole a couple more times before hopping back on. Although it took the attention away from the crowd and back onto him, it did nothing to calm the feverishly electric energy emanating from his performance. The thick, squished crowd was drunk on him and wanted more.

“Take your pants off!” someone near the back urged him.

For the next couple of minutes he ignored them, knowing he was long overdue for another layer to come off. When Gabriel told him to get on the pole, he got on that bitch and rode it into the ground. On more than one occasion his boss had to physically remove him from the stage because he wouldn’t stop shaking his ass. Those were the occasions Dean showed up to work buzzed, but that was beside the point.

So what? He stayed fit. He might eat microwavable crap but he worked it off. He even had a practice pole installed in his apartment. If he ever felt like he was starting to grow a chub, he’d jump on that thing for an hour or two. If working out his core didn’t beat the pudge out of him, the immense hatred for working out without an audience did. It was hard work, making his body work around that pole, and he’d be damned if he didn’t have a crowd around to appreciate it.

He was upside down now, nose to the pole and feet in the air. Leveraging with his toned arms, he arched his back, lowering his legs until they touched the ground. Standing upright, he smirked as he began thumbing into his shorts, enjoying the constantly heightening anticipation from the cluster of visitors.

Every eye was on him. Some of them had found seats at tables near the edges of the room, but their attention was on him just the same. The ladies near the front watched with slack jaws, shamelessly watching his fingers move under the tight fabric showing inch by agonizing inch of skin as he meticulously worked the shorts down. 

One of his front-row ladies squealed as he slipped the shorts down his legs. He really was having too much fun with these gals. They were a fun bunch and he was kind of sad it was almost over. But his body was exhausted from dancing, plus all the massages he had given that morning. Sleep would be a sweet release tonight.

The thong pulled against every bump and curve of what was left under the fabric, leaving very little to the imagination. Dean was more than moderately hung, even when he wasn’t hard, and he loved the looks on people’s faces when they realized it. It was probably hard for these ladies to tell with such bad lighting and their less-than-perfect vision, but he knew it and he acted like it.

He was back on the pole now, hanging on by his legs and spinning around like a top. Right as he began to lose momentum, the regular lights turned on and the music cut off, startling the massive crowd and prompting Dean to stop mid-turn. Right inside the door stood Gabriel himself, finger still on the light switch and a regretful frown on his face.

“Sorry folks,” he announced. The crowd began making disappointed groans, which he had to talk above. “Your bus is leaving in T minus 5 minutes. If you don’t want to be left behind, I suggest you begin filling up that elevator. Or take the stairs if it strikes your fancy.”

The visitors moaned their “aww”s, a handful of them sending him hateful glares while the rest seemed disappointed but grateful for the exciting interlude in their otherwise dull lives. Slowly they made their way through the doorway and down the hall, a mass exodus of seniors headed for their waiting transport.

“We eagerly look forward to you registering with us,” Gabriel called after them in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Brochures are at the front desk!”

As the room emptied of visitors, Dean could finally see which staff members had joined in the crowd. All four tour groups finally finished trickling out, leaving Meg, Samandriel, and Bella lingering in the corner. Gabriel stepped all the way inside, crossing his arms but giving Dean a look that attempted to look intimidating, but failed miserably.

“Three-fourths of those people didn’t even finish their tours,” his thinly-veiled lecture began. “I started them all in different rooms so they wouldn’t mush together and get distracted.”

“You tell me to get on the pole and expect these people not to get distracted?” Dean asked, voice laced with snark as he scooped up piece by piece of discarded clothing. He stepped off the stage. “Besides, I think they were pretty well-convinced by what they did see. The bingo room is nice and all, but this? They’ll remember this.”

“Yeah, well… Good show, Winchester.”

Dean shrugged and cocked his head. “You’re gonna follow up on all of them with direct mail anyway, right?”

“Sure, the ones that signed in.”   
  
Meg, Samandriel, and Bella all gave confused looks. “They didn’t all sign in?” Meg asked.

“The first three tours did. The printer malfunctioned after we printed out a couple of new sign-in sheets. Those sign-ins are how I get their info for sending them follow-up mail. No sign-in sheets, no addresses.”

“What happened to the printer?” Dean asked Gabriel.

“The hell if I know. Those things can smell fear, that’s what I say. Claire couldn’t figure the damn thing out before it was time for the tours to start.”

Bella groaned. “Time to call tech, I suppose.”

“I could…” Dean jumped in, but lowered his voice when everyone looked at him. “Uh, I could… um… I mean I don’t mind calling tech, if that’s what needs to be done. It’s no big deal.”

Gabriel sighed nonchalantly and turned towards the door. “Have it your way. The rest of you, don’t be late to your stations. The residents are turning in for the night soon.”

After the boss left, Dean approached the other three staff members, who were all giving that smile they gave each other after an especially lively night of giving their unique brand of healthcare.

Bella wore a white satin slip with lace trim, which looked stunning against her sun-kissed skin. “Told you I’d come watch,” she reminded him.

“I believe these are yours,” Samandriel said as he pulled Dean’s suspenders out from behind his back. The skinny thing was in tear-away scrubs that were at least one size too big for him, but Dean doubted Gabriel could order anything smaller.

He laughed as he took the suspenders and added them to the wad of clothing balled up at his side. “She dropped them, didn’t she?”

Samandriel held his lips in a tight smile and just nodded. 

“Good job distracting everybody from the rest of the tour,” Meg piped up in her denim mini skirt and crop top. “That’s a win in my book.”

“It’s a win in Gabriel’s book. He’s just being an ass about it.”

“He’s got to at least try to keep you humble.”

“Yeah yeah,” Dean said with a raised brow. “He loves it. He’s just pissed the printer went to shit.”

“Guess you better get on with it, then,” Bella responded. “You couldn’t pay me enough to get on the phone with those arrogant pricks. They think they’re so much smarter than everyone else.”

Dean’s creased brow challenged her statement, but he wasn’t about to start a discussion about interpreting someone’s character by the tone of their voice. He didn’t really want to start a conversation with Bella, period. Besides the uselessness of trying to reason with her, he had his mind on a much more meaningful conversation ahead.

“Right, well, guess I’ll see all you sexy beasts tomorrow,” he concluded before they all left the dance hall. Dean opted to take the stairs while the rest of them headed in the opposite direction, towards the elevator. He halfway debated on returning his clothes to his car, but it was just more time spent not talking to Cas.

The front desk was peaceful. The guests were long gone, residents were in their suites; the only hint of anything awry was the tiny orange blinking light on the printer. Dean read the small words beside the light. He squinted, making sure he was reading it correctly.

“It says it needs toner.”

“Lies,” Claire retorted, turning in her swivel chair. “I tried that.”

Dean fiddled with the tray. “Is it out of paper?”

“No.”

“Is something unplugged?”

“No.”

“Did you turn it off and back on—”

“Dean, it’s broken,” Claire snapped. “It printed out some stuff and then it stopped working. You weren’t here, okay? I tried all that stuff already.”

“Okay, well I’m gonna call tech about it.”

Claire’s upper lip turned up in disgust as she gave him an up-and-down look. “And you’re going to talk on the phone… sitting down… in my chair… wearing that?”

He pursed his lips. “Unless you’d rather call.”

Tossing her head back, Claire rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Fine.” With that, she stood up, grabbed her purse, and took out her keys. “It’s almost time for me to go anyway. Today was a really long day.”

“For you and me both, kid.” Dean sat down and picked up the phone, pressing each number as he read it on the monitor. His heart sank. What if the Milton businesses’ tech support held office hours as well? Cas might have already left for the day. Dean didn’t want to talk to anyone else about the printer — only Cas.

His was the only voice he wanted to hear after such a hectic day. Its resonance would calm him, ground him. The simple commands would give him something to focus on besides work and his trainwreck of a life. Knowing how knowledgeable the person was on the other end of the line relaxed his mind, because for once he didn’t have to worry about being the problem solver. Someone else was troubleshooting. All he had to do was follow directions.

_ “Thank you for calling Milton Partner Companies technical support. Your call is important to us. For Raphael and Company Genetic Preservation and Cloning, press 1. For Felix Mori, press 2.” _

Dean nearly smashed the 2 button. He sent up a shallow, silent prayer for a short hold time.

_ “For quality assurance purposes, this call may be monitored or recorded.” _

It was a short enough wait. Longer than he wanted, but definitely not as long as yesterday. But when the voice answered on the other end, his heart fell into his stomach.

“Tech support, this is Sam.”

That voice.

That was his brother’s voice.

Recovering from the whiplash of expecting Cas and getting Sam freaking Winchester, Dean stumbled over a greeting. Why was his little brother answering the phone? He was in tech support? Holy crap, Sam was in tech support. When did he start that? Why did he choose that specific company? Did he know Dean worked for  _ Felix Mori? _

No, no he did not. He couldn’t have, seeing how Sam never freaking talked to him.

“Uh? Um, uh…”

“Hello? You’re cutting in and out.”

Dean cleared his throat. He couldn’t give himself away. This could not, under any circumstances, be the way he and Sam spoke to each other after years of radio silence. Sam might even hang up on him if he found out who he was. What did his voice sound like last time they spoke? Had his voice changed much over the years? He had to alter something about his speech pattern… and fast.

“Hello? Is anybody there?”

“Y’ehhhhh,” Dean honked nasally. He pictured himself as a 1930s mob boss in New York. Suit, hat, Tommy Gun… the works. “Ahm lookin’ fo’ a charact’ah named Cas. Y’hoid of ‘im?”

“Uh, yes,” Sam replied as politely as his perplexed tone allowed. “He’s still in. Let me connect him. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Um,” Dean’s vocal facade faltered. Giving a heavy cough, he corrected himself. “Keptin Ah-merica!”

Sam blew a short puff of air through his nose, audibly attempting to control his laughter. “Alright, hold on a sec.”

Dean slouched over in a thick exhale, never more glad to hear terribly off-tune hold music. His next inhale shook, and quite rightly so. He and Sam weren’t on speaking terms. They hadn’t been for years, and the sudden sound of him on the line was jarring. He checked his phone after every shift, hoping for something, anything, that would indicate that his little brother wanted jack shit to do with him. Dean had been praying for the sound of Sam’s voice for a long time.

But not like this.

And to think Dean had to get rid of the voice as soon as he heard it. Because if Sam knew Dean was at  _ Felix Mori,  _ Sam wouldn’t have applied for the tech job. Dean was no idiot; if his brother wanted to talk, he would have talked before now. This whole situation was a mistake — a cruel joke of fate to taunt Dean over something he could never have.

“This is Cas.”

“Cas,” Dean muttered gratefully. “Hey, erm… The guy who transferred me, is he nearby?”

“No, he left for the day.”

Obvious confusion lingered in Cas’ voice, although Dean could tell he kept most of it schooled. The panic in Dean’s voice was a dead giveaway that something was wrong, and Cas was being the calm he needed at this time.

“Is he there… a lot?”

“No, part-time. Actually, today was his last day shift.”

Dean let out another sigh of relief. He leaned back in the swivel chair, head back, body gradually soothed by Cas’ assurances. This had to sound bizarre, but he couldn’t possibly dump the whole backstory on Cas, and he really hoped he wouldn’t ask.

“Apparently,” Cas graciously changed the subject, “someone called ‘Captain America’ wanted to speak with me specifically.”

The dense cloud of worry over Dean lifted, and he smiled. Cas’ entire demeanor had changed from confused to tactful to — was Dean imagining things — flirtatious. It put butterflies in his stomach and a giddy chuckle on his lips.

It was alright. Everything was alright.

“What seems to be the problem, Dean?”

_ The problem is, I don’t hear your voice every second of every day. I have the biggest crush on you, a man I’ve never seen, and yet I know enough about you to think about you all the time. I’m like a freaking teenage girl who’s sweet on her favorite celebrity. The problem is, my bed is cold and my life is empty and it needs you. Jesus fuck, what is happening to me? _

“Printer’s broke.”

“Hmm,” Cas hummed, typing away at his own keyboard. “Is one of the lights on it blinking?”

“Yep,” Dean replied, glancing up at the printer again. “Says it needs toner. Somebody already tried that and apparently that didn’t work.”

“Did they take the orange tab off the cartridge before putting it in?”

“Uh, now that I don’t know.” Dean fidgeted with the outer workings of the printer before figuring out how to open the front hatch. Once it fell open, he stood up and peeped inside. He instantly saw a stripe of orange. “Dammit, it’s still there. No wonder it isn’t working.”

“An honest mistake,” Cas assured him. “How about we go ahead and take that off?”

A sharp tingle arose in his groin, and he had to close his mouth to keep a hungry moan from leaving his throat. He glanced down at his thong, the only thing still on his body, and silently cursed himself for getting aroused at a sentence he most definitely took out of context. Clearing his head with a shake, he centered his attention on the toner cartridge.

Cas was just reeling off instructions. Dean knew that. But he also knew this tech guy remembered his name…  _ and nickname…  _ from yesterday. Did that mean Dean was memorable? Did Cas give him a second thought after they hung up yesterday? Could he dare think Cas enjoyed talking to him as much as he did? 

No, this didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. Maybe Cas didn’t get hundreds of callers every day, like some comm centers. After all, the Milton family had their own private tech company. No, Dean was unquestionably overthinking this one. He wasn’t special. 

“How has your day been today, Dean?”

Dean’s stomach panged with the unexpected inquiry. Was that normal? Asking tech clients how their day is going? Perhaps so. This was a customer service-centered job, after all. 

“Insane,” he answered honestly, toner powder covering the tips of his fingers as he tinkered. “Tantric massage, then a busful of seniors rolled in asking for a tour. The printer started acting up while I was working the pole, and now here I am.”

“The pole?” Cas echoed.

“At  _ Felix Mori.  _ You know, the long shiny things exotic healthcare aides specialize in.”

Another second of silence before realization hit him. “You’re a dancer there.”

Dean blinked at the revelation. He couldn’t tell if it was one of surprise, disgust, unforeseen shock, or any combination of the three. “Y-yeah?”

“I just didn’t know the dancers called tech support, that’s all. Figured that was below your pay grade or something.”

Dean huffed out a short laugh. “Man, if talking to you is stooping below my pay grade, it’s the best damn demotion ever.”

Absolute silence on the other end made him a nervous wreck for a solid two seconds, until the sound cut back on in the middle of Cas making a breathy inhale. His next words sounded like he was grinning from ear to ear. “I’m just used to secretaries getting stuck with calling me, is all.”

Dean grinned. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that fucker put him on mute so he could laugh at the unexpected but somewhat corny flirtation. He made Cas laugh.

_ He made Cas laugh. _

_   
_ Feeling like a million bucks, Dean flung the orange tab into the trash and slipped the cartridge back into the printer. His chest felt full of air and sunshine, like a balloon ready to pop. His heart beat a little quicker imagining what Cas’ smile must look like. Did he have full cheeks and a toothy grin? Dimples? Handsome eye lines and a crinkly nose? 

“Keeping all this only for the old folks? It just wouldn’t have been fair. Besides, ‘stuck with calling you’? Uh, have you talked to you?”

“I have talked to myself on occasion, yes.”

“Your voice is…” No, Dean couldn’t do this right now. He was going too far. Cas already knew Dean enjoyed talking with him. What he didn’t need to know was how masturbatory his voice was; how it awoke base desires Dean couldn’t risk admitting to anyone. Having a voice kink was relatively common, but having a tech support kink… Was that even a thing?

“It’s the perfect voice for the job,” he concluded.

Cas said nothing for a moment. It hurt inside knowing he couldn’t say what he really wanted to, but it hurt even more hearing Cas’ tone change. “Huh,” he simply replied. It was impossible to interpret everything a short hum could possibly say, but to Dean it sounded like Cas was hoping for something different. It sounded like the deflation of a long-expected wish that disappeared from sight in the blink of an eye.

Goddammit, maybe he should’ve let his freak flag fly, after all.

“Um, I’m done, by the way,” Dean said quietly. “With the toner thing.”

Cas cleared his throat and typed a few keystrokes. “Alright then. Let’s give it a whirl, shall we?”

Stomach turning in a knot, Dean closed up the printer flap and returned to the swivel chair. The thinly-veiled sadness in Cas’ voice was enough to make him want to kick himself. What kind of moron leads a guy on like that, only to take it all back in a job-related jab? What a smack in the face.

_ Stupid, stupid, fucking idiot,  _ he said to himself.  _ You hurt his feelings. What the fuck? Who the fuck does that? _

Opening up his email, he chose a relatively important-looking promotion and sent it to print. He waited. Nothing.

“No luck,” he told Cas.

Several keystrokes tapped away over the line. “Is there another light blinking on the printer?”

“Uh,” Dean murmured while climbing back up to eye level with the printer. “No. Says ‘Ready.’”

“I see. Shall we attempt the tried-and-true trick of turning it off and back on again?”

“Worth a shot.” Dean was trying to add animation to his voice in the wake of basically shooting down Cas’ pursuits, but it made him cringe how fake it sounded. “You’re the professional, after all. That’s why you get the big bucks.”

“I’m certain you’re a professional in your field, as well. I don’t know the first thing about entertaining people.”

Dean’s mood lightened at the chance to once again smother Cas with compliments. It was cheesy and probably sounded desperate, but fuck it. Dean couldn’t show Cas his face, so if he had to make up for it with dumb accolades, so be it.

“Aw, come on. You never hosted a party?”

“N-no,” Cas admitted sheepishly. “I’m not really the best with people, in fact.”

Dean gave a confused pout. “Coulda fooled me. Whether it’s entertaining three friends or the general public, the concept is the same: Pick a theme, keep their eyeballs and cake holes occupied, and be yourself.”

The small staticy chuckle let him know Cas’ mood had been lightened, too. “You make it sound very easy.”

“Maybe one day I’ll have a party and invite you.” Dean held down the power button until the Ready light went out, then gave the printer a few seconds to completely power down. “Or maybe you could just come see me at work. I’ll show you how easy I make it look.”

He momentarily panicked. Inviting the tech guy to come watch him perform was audacious, and doubtlessly came across as even more suggestive than he intended. Dean was not numb enough to his work to disregard how sexual the general populace viewed him. Even so, the proposition was a bold one, and was basically a come-on to see him naked.

His invitation for Charlie and Dot to visit him at work held an undertone not even close to that.

Maybe Cas would take it innocently. Would he, after Dean put so much emphasis on  _ look  _ and  _ see  _ and the blatant description of what he did? Was taking it so casually even an option at this point?

“I would like that,” came the confession.

Dean’s heart leaped into his throat. Giving the power button a short press, he bit his lip to keep from laughing like a giddy school kid. His head was swimming with every operatic hallelujah known to mortal man. The grin from ear to ear lighting up his face wasn’t detectable over a phone, but the spark in his voice was.

“You know where I work.”

“Yes… Yes, I certainly do.”

From the sound of it, Cas was smiling too. Poor thing was trying so hard to sound like a hard-working professional — the call was probably being recorded, after all — but Dean saw through it over soundwaves alone. Inwardly he was rejoicing, like the moment after purchasing concert tickets, knowing  _ it’s happening for real;  _ but outwardly all he could do was bounce his restless foot and grin like an idiot.

He had to center himself all over again to gather enough wherewithal to attempt the print job again. He clicked the wrong spot on the page several times before finally putting the cursor in the Print box. A few weird sounds later, the page began printing.

And then his heart broke a little, because a fixed piece of equipment meant goodbye.

“You technological genius, you,” Dean purred, and if this was some sort of cheap porno, it might’ve been sexy. 

“It has been said,” came the cheeky reply.

Dean didn’t stop himself from chuckling this time. He hadn’t found this much humor in anything in ages. It wasn’t even that great of a comeback. Only twitterpated fools acted this way, laughing at anything and everything their crush says that might be even remotely funny.

“Well Cas, looks like this is the part where we say goodbye.”

The split-second of silence was deafening but telling. “Yes, it appears so, Dean.”

Dean hated the way Cas’ voice sounded just then. It wasn’t hurt, like before. It seemed alive and buoyant but laced with melancholy. Dean knew he was only hurting himself by reading into it, but dammit, he couldn’t help himself. He loved talking to the IT guy and it wasn’t just because his voice sounded like sex.

Come to find out, Cas was interesting. He was funny, kind, and intuitive. He was witty and sarcastic, hard-working, and smart as hell. All this from just two phone conversations, and Dean could be damned if he cared anyone judged him for wanting more. Every second spent talking to Cas gave Dean a little more hunger for him, a little more curiosity. Who was the man behind the voice?

“Hope something else in the office breaks real soon,” Dean mustered up the gall to say.

“I’ll be right here when it does,” Cas replied resolutely.

Dean gave a half-smile at the man who couldn’t see it. “Later, Cas.”

“Enjoy your night, Dean.”


	3. Mud wrestling and dildo duty

The bummer was, nothing broke for the next five days. It was like the universe was deliberately working against him, keeping the  _ Felix Mori _ office equipment in pristine condition. It kept Claire in a good mood and Dean in a bad one, much to the bewilderment of the rest of the staff.

Seeing Claire in such high spirits was incongruous with Dean’s Eeyore vibe, which pissed him off, which provoked Claire to be even more irritatingly joyous. The little shit was humming to herself now, with a big stupid grin on her face, and she knew exactly how much it was peeving him.

“What the hell are you so happy about?” Dean snapped from several steps away from the front desk.

“It’s just a good day,” she replied, twirling around a pen that had a fuzzy yellow ball on the end. “Something wrong with that?”

“Yeah, it’s annoying.”

Claire gave the pen a few more twirls. “What’s got your panties in a bunch?”

“Nothing,” Dean replied too quickly. “Why don’t you chill out with all the Hannah Montana tunes, and the, the… fuzz balls, and friggin’ smiling at me every time I walk by?”

Another wide smile. Teeth and everything. 

_ Gun. Mouth. Now. _

“I bet you wouldn’t be so happy-go-lucky if we had another printer malfunction.”

Claire blinked, her grin faltering by a hair. “Ha, what?”

“If the printer broke, or… or the computer wouldn’t turn on. I bet you’d be singin’ a different tune.”

“Wait,” she scoffed. “You’re grumpy because my office stuff is working? Because for once I’m having a relatively stress-free work week? What kind of sociopath are you?”

“No way, nuh uh.” Dean stomped over to the front desk, hand waving dismissively. “That’s not what this is, but nice try, young lady. The second you figured out that your rainbows-and-unicorns smile-fest ticked me off, you turned it up like fourteen notches. You’re enjoying my pain. Oh, but I’m the sociopath?”

“What the hell do you have to be ticked off about?” she challenged, brows creasing and voice slightly raised. “You run around naked for a living with every straight chick and old gay geezer wanting a piece. I’m sitting back here all day, dreaming of the day I make eyes with my crush, who might or might not even know I exist!”

Dean stood up straighter, lacing his fingers on the front desk. He let out a cleansing breath, nearly all his pent-up anger leaving with it. “Oh,” he puffed.

“Oh,” she repeated with a nod. “Do we understand each other now?”

“Yeah, I just — yeah,” he said, tapping the desk before turning his body. He was in blue scrubs and on his way to strip poker, but would the world stop turning if he took a few extra minutes?

“Now if you don’t mind, I have schedules to email.”

Without replying to Claire, he walked across the foyer and up the stairs. It was the opposite direction of the wing he was assigned. On the way up he took out his phone, looking this way and that before checking up on his record listings.

The Beatles album was starting to get bids, much to his delight. Several days ago he put up another, an extremely rare Def Leppard Warchild bootleg. He was going to make bank on that one for sure, and was looking forward to the end of the auction. Once again, he had put a ridiculous Buy It Now price for anyone with no patience, which nobody had touched thus far.

Dozens of people were watching the bootleg. He felt good about the attention; the views would more than likely turn into bids in the coming days. 

Once at the top of the stairs, Dean got his bearings before heading into the wing every resident eventually ended up in, but nobody talked about. Officially, the title of the wing was written above the door frame:  _ Angelum Volantem.  _ Behind the employees-only door, it was referred to as the death wing.

Gabriel did everything within his power to ensure the comfort of those who found themselves down this hall. It was equipped with enough hospital equipment to accommodate the entire house, as well as around-the-clock nurses and doctors dedicated to making the residents’ last moments on earth peaceful.

Not everyone who got admitted went up there straight from the get-go. In fact, most of them didn’t. After a physical and psychological evaluation, the average newbie was found to be in far better shape than their pessimistic family originally thought, and they would be assigned a suite downstairs. They were given tools to incorporate themselves into the society Gabriel built. They were treated like vibrant, sexual beings, and most of them showed signs of improvement for a while.

But all roads ended at  _ Angelum Volantem.  _

Eventually, bodies stopped responding to treatment. Brains lost functionality. The agony became too much to bear. Whatever the circumstance,  _ Felix Mori _ was ready for it, and made the passing of their residents as painless and comfortable as possible.

That’s where Dean knew he would find Kaia.

She was at the nurse’s station, in mint green scrubs and handing over a clipboard to one of the other staff members. It took Dean half the length of the hall to realize he didn’t have a plan, and frantically began rummaging through his pockets. An unused piece of gum here, a wadded up tissue there… Nothing interesting and he was almost at the station.

Kaia looked up from behind the desk. Dean froze, mere inches away, and gulped. She peered at him questioningly.

“Hi, uh, hey,” he began clumsily.

“Hi, do you need something?” she asked civilly.

Dean picked at his watch, hands mostly concealed by the desk. He babbled for a second, then stood wide-eyed as he ran his fingers over the watchband buckle. The watch,  _ the watch… _

“Yeah, actually. If it’s not too much trouble,” he recovered, demeanor switching from unease to confidence. “See, I’m supposed to be in…” He glanced at the hallway behind Kaia, noting the suite numbers. “Room 204. I’m due there like, five minutes ago. And I found one of the staff member’s pagers.” He freed the watch off his wrist and held it up. “Super important that whoever lost this gets it back. I would take it down to the front desk myself, but I’m so late…”

“Yeah, okay,” Kaia said with an informal shrug. “I don’t mind.”

“Oh my god, thank you,” Dean sighed. “Hate to throw it on the rookie, but I’m sure whoever lost it will be super grateful —”

“Mmm hmm,” she interrupted, taking the watch and putting it in her scrub pocket. “You better get to your patient. I heard Gabriel is kind of strict with tardiness.”

Dean gave the ol’ finger guns and began backing away. “Yes, you are so right.”

“Room 204 is that way.” Kaia pointed behind her with her thumb.

“Yep,” Dean clipped with two thumbs up, correcting his course and turning in circles a couple of awkward times before darting down the correct hall. He had to dodge a gurney and a few staff members, but he finally got there, turning at the corner just in time to see Kaia disappearing out of the wing. He did a little victory jog, celebrating his feat while giving Kaia enough space to not see him once he sneaked out. It was going to be tricky getting past her on the stairs, so he opted for the elevator instead. It landed him further away from the room strip poker was in, but it was worth it to avoid getting caught.

When the elevator opened, Dean peeked around before stepping out. Seeing neither Kaia nor Claire in sight, he took his chance and headed for the game room. Now all he had to do was make it through poker without needing his watch.

——

“They’re doing what on the front lawn?”

“Mud wrestling, Dean!”

“On the…  _ front  _ lawn?”

“Did I fucking stutter?” Jo barked, leaving him inside to join the growing crowd of cheering residents and staff.

Dean stared outside from the safety of the front doors. Sure enough, two mud-slick grannies were romping around in a brown patch in front of the hospice home. The nearby sprinkler supplemented the mud pit, adding more water and offering cool relief to nearby onlookers. At the center of attention, the two senior women crawled around in nothing but their whitey tighties, grabbing at each other and rolling around in the sludge.

His eyes glanced up to see beyond the hospice grounds, where regular civilization was going about their day as usual, only to ride by the obscene sight and get the shock of their lives. No one within these walls thought a single thing of the naughty fantasies these old folks lived out in their final days, but it was easy to forget how foreign that concept was to the rest of society.

Dean rubbed his temples as he watched a car swerve around the nearby road, followed by another driver on the horn. Someone else slowed to a snail’s pace, genuinely interested in checking out the scene, which turned into a traffic standstill, punctuated by beeps and catcalls.

Adding the public mud wrestling incident to the everyday congestion of rush hour was a disaster waiting to happen. It was only a matter of time before something bad happened, and not just displacement of someone’s hip. Dean wasn’t in the mood for his workplace to make the news as the spectacle that caused a five-car pileup on the main road.

Not a moment too soon, Gabriel darted out the front doors and began yelling.  _ Thank fucking god,  _ Dean thought.

“Hey! Take it out back! You’re scaring the vanillas!”

A chorus of boos followed. Gabriel held up his palms in a placating gesture. He might’ve been the boss, but he was grossly outnumbered, even if it was by people past the prime of their physical strength. Next thing he knew, one of the wrestling women threw a heavy glob of mud, hitting him square in the face.

“Great,” Dean breathed ruefully.

The crowd erupted into cheers. At once they pressed closer into the mud pit, each intent on gathering a handful and following suit with a pitch of their own. The staff members scattered throughout made no moves to join the revolt, but wore unerasable grins as the residents caused even more disorder.

“I’m not asking you to stop,” Gabriel attempted to reason, and was met only with another splat, this time on the shoulder. He took a step backwards. “I’ll make a mudhole out back! Just wait… Hold on, just hold on!”

Three splashes of mud hit him at once. Gabriel looked down at his soiled clothes, then shielded his eyes as another clump launched toward his face. He looked back, making eye contact with Dean for a fraction of a second before running towards the front doors.

“No!” Dean yelled through the glass. “Run around back! Go around the back, Gabriel!” He motioned with his hands wildly, but it was too late. Gabriel was making a beeline towards the inside and the angry mob was hot on his heels.

“They’re gonna follow you inside,” Dean hollered, but to no avail. Even if his boss could hear him, it was a lost cause. Gabriel and about thirty filthy seniors were about to charge in, tracking mud and who knows what else along with them.

Abandoning all hope, Dean moved out from behind the doors and ran towards the front desk, clearing it in a single bound. He crouched down behind the computer, determined to stay out of the way of the oncoming stampede. Claire wasn’t at her post, and he wasn’t sure which was worse: Her walking in on Uncle Gabe’s retreat, or coming back to find a mud trail stretching from the front to back doors.

Without another second to spare, Gabriel bolted in, followed closely by the more physically fit of his chasers. He yelped out his pleas, attempting at peace with every stride. Several residents brought handfuls of mud in with them, chucking them in his direction as they gave pursuit. None of the globs hit their target, instead taking out a lamp, two framed pictures, and the cup of pens on the front desk.

Dean raised his head just enough to see the last stragglers stumble in. Two of them were the wrestlers, plus a handful of slower folks holding onto their hip or a walker. The floor was absolutely beyond hope: drenched in mud, slippery, and putrid with a wet, earthy stench.

“Dean, what the hell?” Claire’s voice screeched behind him. He turned slowly to see her, just back from the employee’s-only hallway, with a tray of coffee drinks and her car keys. He was still hunkered down, even though the multitude was passed the foyer. 

“Your uncle spoiled their mud wrestling fun, and they demanded a sacrifice,” he summarized, standing all the way up and watching as the last few reached the back end of the house. They were in the garden now, probably trampling flowers and chasing Gabriel up a tree. 

The few staff members that had been out front slowly trickled in, avoiding the long smear of mud as much as they could. Claire’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped when she saw the glistening, slick mud stretching from door to door. The staff members looked amongst each other with equal measures of disbelief and merriment.

Claire looked at where her pen cup used to sit, following a trail of mud to find it wiped out near the luggage trolley. “Holy —”

“Yep.”

“Oh my god.”

Dean leaned one elbow on the front desk, still facing her. “Mud pie, anyone?”

“I need to... uh,” Claire stammered, assessing the damage with eyes darting around the foyer. “He’s gonna want a cleaning service. Um… Anybody know any cleaning services?”

The staff members on the other side of the counter shook their heads, then headed into the dining hall, most likely to find a sink or at least some paper towels. Dean had managed to avoid the mud entirely, and stayed put for the time being. He was absolutely sure Claire could manage on her own, but he had nowhere else to be for an hour.

“He keeps a Rolodex,” Claire remembered as she set down the drink tray. Sitting on her chair, she looked behind the computer monitor to find the dusty old rotating spindle and leafed through it. She stopped at a particular card and sighed with relief. “Nick’s Rug Cleaning. That sounds about right.”

Dean scanned the rest of the foyer while she called the number. Small splats of brown speckled the walls. The worst of the mud trail, the first few feet inside, was sinking into the floor, causing pools of dirty water to collect on the slightly sloped parts of the floor. It really was a shocker to walk in on, and it was no wonder Claire responded to the disturbance with such blank-faced awe.

Actually, the fact that she was keeping this calm was impressive. Her initial outburst was warranted and somewhat expected, but the fact that she didn’t keep screaming about it surprised Dean. Maybe she wasn’t the drama queen he chalked her up to be.

“Okay thanks,” she said before hanging up the phone. Turning to Dean, she took one of the four drinks out of the tray and stabbed a straw into the lid. “He’ll be here tomorrow morning. Uncle Gabe’s gonna be pissed he can’t be here sooner.”

“Uncle Gabe’s gonna have to suck it up,” Dean countered. “He shouldn’t have led them through the front friggin’ doors. He had his chance to lead them around the back and what did he do? Took the shortcut, through several thousand square feet of expensive carpet.”

Claire blew a humorous puff out her nose. “By the way,” she said as she reached into a drawer, taking out Dean’s watch. “Are you missing something?”

Dean’s face lit up. “Hey, thanks. Must’ve misplaced it.”

Right as he was about to take it from her hand, she pulled back. “Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

She rolled her eyes. “You know what.”

“Are you complaining?” He snatched the watch out of her hands and latched it back onto his wrist. “Your crush knows your name now.”

Claire tried not to smile, and it was useless, because now she was blushing.

“Oh man, you’re in deep.”   
  
“Shut up.”

Dean smirked but turned away to retrieve the pen cup from across the room. Several of the pens and pencils were scattered around the trolley, so he picked those up, too. When he came back to the desk, Claire was holding out one of the drinks.

“Frappuccino?” 

Setting the cup back atop the desk, Dean took the drink and one of the three straws sitting across the tray. The corner of his lip turned up as he took an experimental sip.

“Mm,” he hummed, tasting a conglomeration of coffee, caramel, and… chocolate?

“Never had a blended coffee drink before, huh?”

“Not bad at all,” Dean admitted, inspecting the texture of the icy beverage. “More of a black coffee kinda guy, usually.”

“My god, you’re uncultured.” Claire pushed the wheeled chair a few inches back and forth while sipping, a comfortable silence blanketing the foyer. It was the calm after the storm, when the mind still raced a mile a minute but everything around them appeared deceptively calm, as if a stampede of muddy elderlies didn’t just chase the hospice owner through his own building.

If he didn’t have places to be within the hour, he would’ve stayed for the rest of the day. He needed someplace to process things. Everything he had been through the past week — watching another life pass away, developing a crush on a tech support guy, putting his dad’s beloved classic vinyl up for sale, and the gigantic day of a clusterfuck — was taking a toll on him mentally, physically, emotionally.

Oh, and there was the teeny tiny detail of hearing his brother’s voice for the first time in what felt like half a century. Dean was not okay after that. He could put on a face, shove it deep inside, but just under the surface he knew how much of a wreck that call had made him.

After all these years of hoping for something — a phone call, a text, a friggin’ email — and praying to shit the next time he saw Sam’s name wasn’t in a goddamned obituary, he got this. Out of the blue came Sam’s voice, but not with a “hey, how are you” or “it’s been too long”, but as a cold, impersonal answer to an IT question. 

And instead of jumping on the opportunity to make himself known and possibly talk _ like brothers are supposed to,  _ Dean took the easy way out. Maybe he felt guilty, or maybe the thought of their reunion going differently than expected shook him to the core. He didn’t know. It all happened too fast.

But now he was left in the wake of it all, and it hurt. Now that it was over, he could go over every minute thing he should’a, could’a, would’a done. It wasn’t like there was a restraining order in place. Hell, Dean had the physical ability to stick around after dayshift and call while Sam was on the clock. It was the only number connecting them that Sam hadn’t blocked, so why didn’t Dean take the chance?   
  


Maybe he was afraid. More likely, however, was the fact that if they ever spoke to each other again, Dean wanted both of them to be willing parties. He didn’t want to trick Sam into talking to him. Forcing his way back into Sam’s life would hurt even more than the current situation, and Dean couldn’t do it. It was likely he was overthinking this whole thing, but what else was he supposed to do? Pretend it didn’t happen?

“Thank heavens,” came the sound of Gabriel’s voice from just beyond the front desk. He slipped in, hurrying directly to the drink tray.

His hair and face bore dried brown specks, but his clothes were changed. The best he could do, Dean supposed, until he could get to some soap and a showerhead. Gabriel indulged in his drink right away, closing his eyes for a moment to let the coffee wet his throat and cleanse his soul.

“He lives,” Claire noted, taking another sip of hers.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with those insolent ol’ hippies. Every time I tried brushing the mud off, someone would pipe up about ‘how much worse it was at Woodstock’ and how ‘soft my generation is.’ Do these people not understand I could sue them for this?”

“They pee in a tray and watch Adam 12 reruns,” Claire deadpanned.

“Hey,” Dean interjected, “don’t hate on Adam 12. That’s a great show.”

Gabriel leaned on the desk, a hand on his hips and dignity back intact. “If anyone is wondering, I am ay-okay.”

“Can’t say the same for your beautiful carpet, I’m afraid.” Dean tilted his head toward the space just inside the front doors. Gabriel’s eyes wandered until they met the gruesome sight, and his eyes bugged out like saucers. “Ah, don’t be like that. Claire already called the rug guy.”

“That’s my first cousin once removed,” Gabriel praised, holding up his hand. Claire rolled her eyes, but humored him with a high five. “On it like white on rice. That’s why I keep you around.”

Dean glanced down at his watch and pressed off of the desk. “Well folks, I’d love to keep encroaching on this special family moment, but I’m on dildo duty. Guess I better head that way before Ethel and Buford try to break into the toy cabinet like last week.”

“Have fun with that,” Claire said, raising her brows at the memory. “Ethel did end up taking an extra one, by the way.”

“What? I didn’t see it, and I’m pretty good at eyeballing pockets.”   
  
A close-mouthed giggle vibrated in her throat. “Oh, she wasn’t hiding it in her pockets.”

Dean squinted in an attempt to erase the visual. “Ugh. I’m outta here.”

After he left, Gabriel and Claire remained where they were to take in the full scale of carnage left at the front doors. The boss man mosied out from behind Claire’s desk to assess the damage closer, now that the threat of getting trampled had passed. It was bad — by tomorrow, there would doubtlessly be water damage as well as the initial mess to clean up — but Claire had done her best.

The residents had been banished to their suites for the rest of the night, with an extra security guard called on as a precaution. Thankfully, most of the perpetrators were exhausted from the expended energy, and took to their beds with minimal pushback. Regardless of their compliance, it was dangerous to have any number of people with a mob mentality. Even the weakest, when collectively on the offense, could put up a fair fight.

“How is my cousin doing, anyway?” Gabriel asked from across the desk.

“A little better, I guess. Still kinda antisocial.”

Gabriel pursed his lips and let an exhale out of his nose. “I understand Cas is having a hard time with what happened, but he needs to let people back into his life. He can’t just shut everybody out.”

“You know my dad,” she said with a cheerless shrug. “He just needs some time.”

“The tech job has been good for him, I think. It’s a stressful job, but at least he doesn’t have anyone’s life on the line like before.”

Claire nodded, a far-away look in her eyes. “He seems a little different since Dean started calling tech support.”

Gabriel raised a brow. 

“Not as… mechanical? I don’t know. Maybe I’m just imagining things.”

“Maybe not, kiddo. It’s possible Dean’s getting through to him.”

“Yeah, maybe. Dad just seems less robot-like these past few days. Like he’s letting his emotions back on.”

“That’s fantastic,” Gabe exclaimed, eyes lighting up. “Claire, this is really,  _ really  _ good. My cousin might be his old self again, eventually.”

Claire pointed at her dad’s cousin with her straw. “Eventually… maybe. Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”

“Well, if it’s Dean who’s making a difference, make sure he’s making every tech support call from now ‘til kingdom come.”

Claire caught sight of Kaia in the corner of her eye, walking towards the desk to retrieve the drink Claire promised her. She flashed a grin Kaia’s way before turning back to Gabriel. “One less call for me to worry about. Sign me the heck up.”

——

“One with two motors, please,” one of the residents requested with a cheeky wink.

Dean forced a half smile and reached into the meticulously organized rolling locker. It was tall, deep, and filled with freshly sanitized, fully charged toys. Residents had formed a line all the way to the wing entrance, and just around the corner Pam peeked, giggling to herself at the misfortune befallen to Dean for getting dildo duty that night.

It wasn’t that anyone particularly hated the job. It just wasn’t the most glamorous part of working at  _ Felix Mori.  _ One person was assigned to sanitizing, charging, and distributing everything in the locker. Of course, Gabriel went to great lengths to ensure safe handling with minimal actual touching, and not without gloves, mind you, but it was still a shitty job.

Sometimes literally.

“Anal beads, por favor,” an eighty-year-old man said, then chuckled at his clever use of Spanish. The lady who wanted a toy with two motors got the coveted 9-inch vibrator with separate settings for g-spot and clitoral stimulation. The man in front of him now had on a white tank and boxers, and from the smell of him alone, had no business sticking anything up his ass without expecting a little something extra on the pull-out.

Dean swallowed thickly, then handed over the set of purple beads, silently thanking any deity that would listen that he wasn’t the one who had to sanitize them next.

Next in line was Ethel, who reached into her ridiculously deep robe pocket before Dean could make any sort of salutation. She slammed something onto the table that separated them, taking a step back so Dean could fully size-up the obviously used toy. It was drained of battery and covered in a film of dried bodily fluids. He looked from the vibrating dildo back up to the unamused old woman.

“This stopped working,” she snapped shortly.

Dean’s brow shot up. This particular toy’s battery life was at least 100 hours, so the fact that she could drain it all in one week was impressive, to say the least. How much time one person could dedicate to masturbating wasn’t a question Dean had spent much time asking, but now he was curious. He wasn’t thrilled about the resident dildo thief being the one to awaken it, but here they were.

“We’ll get it recharged, Miss Ethel,” Dean replied with a curt smile. “I have something similar available if you’d like?”

“Naw,” she opposed, shaking her head. “I want something different. Surprise me.”

Grumbling to himself, Dean scanned the locker until his eyes fell on a remote-controlled wearable vibrator, specially made to be worn in undies. He took it out with a gloved hand.

“How about this? Some fun for just you, or Buford can play along, too.”

“Alright,” she muttered skeptically. “I suppose we could try it.”

“Miss Ethel,” Dean prodded as she took the toy, turning to make a quick get-away. “Do you have something else to hand over for cleaning?”

Looking back at him with an air of guilt, Ethel’s shoulders sagged as she took something out of her other robe pocket. Dean closed his lips in a thin line as she placed it on the table. It was a strap-on monster dong. The thing must have been at least twelve inches long and over two inches in diameter. How it fit in her pocket was beyond him, and he didn’t want to think about how she made off with it last week.

“Th-thank you,” Dean managed to get out as she turned again to leave.

After this, he needed a drink. Or eight.

Taking care of the rest of the line put him past his scheduled time off, but screw it, he got overtime. He was almost to the end of the employees-only hall when Samandriel burst in with a distressed look.

“What’s up?” Dean asked as soon as he picked up on the young guy’s nervous energy.

“Is your pager working?”

Blinking, Dean took another step and tilted his step, making sure he correctly heard the strange question. “My… my pager?”

Samandriel nodded.

Dean instinctively raised his wrist to a readable height. He hadn’t really thought about it since Claire handed his back over, and why would he? The only times he thought about the gaudy thing was when he needed something from his boss, or when his boss wanted to bother him. It hadn’t made a single buzz all day, which didn’t give Dean reason to worry, since it wasn’t unheard of to not hear from Gabriel in the span of eight hours.

He gave the crown two experimental taps. No buzzes. Looking back up at Samandriel, he made a thoughtful hum and shook his wrist before trying again.

Nothing.

“Pam’s and Lisa’s aren’t working either,” Samandriel continued. “Pretty sure it’s some kinda company-wide outage. The batteries are nowhere near old. I’m gonna ask Meg next, and Jo if she hasn’t clocked out yet.”

The lad was doubtlessly still talking, because his mouth was moving, but Dean had tuned out. His mind was now consumed with six syllables’ worth of information, and six syllables only. They repeated in his head like a broken record, drowning out all other sounds around him.

_ Company-wide outage… _

That could only mean one thing. Something was broken, and not just anything. Something Cas could fix.

“I gotta go,” Dean hijacked a sentence Samandriel was in the middle of. Some nonsense about  _ communication  _ and  _ the good of the residents _ … bla, bla, bla. None of it mattered. Not after two hours of handing old folks sex toys and getting back sticky ones. Not with a half hour left on his Beatles album auction. Not with the chance of talking to his favorite tech guy staring him in the face.

Samandriel’s voice was nothing more than a confused ring muffled by the employee hall door, and Dean found himself face to face with the empty desk. He didn’t even remember walking here, only imagining Cas’ voice, over and over until he found himself in front of the phone and number taped to the monitor.

Claire was long gone. There was a high chance Cas wouldn’t even pick up. What if he had already clocked out? What if he didn’t work at all today? What if he stopped working for the Milton’s for good? What if Sam picked up?

Putting his fears aside, Dean dialed the number, hardly looking up from the keyboard. He must’ve nearly memorized the tech support phone number by now. Was that normal? Did company employees memorize shit like that? Or was he just insane?

_ “Thank you for calling Milton Partner Companies technical support. Your call —” _

Dean pressed 2.

_ “For quality assurance purposes, this call may be monitored or recorded.” _

The terrible hold music began. Off-tune flute and pitchy piano rang proudly, a testament of the Milton’s horrid taste in music. Didn’t they have anything better? Metallica, perhaps? Or at least something chill like the Carpenter’s, or Ambrosia, or Chicago?

“Tech support, this is Cas. HP5810 or HP5811?”

“Cas!” Dean exclaimed. “Boy am I glad to hear you.”   
  
“Dean, is that you?”

Beaming, Dean took in a breath he felt could make him levitate.  _ Cas recognized his voice.  _ His chest felt so full and airy, like a balloon reaching for the sky. The troubles of  _ Felix Mori  _ seemed far away. He could live in this moment forever, floating on the high of Cas knowing his name, knowing his voice.

“Yeah, it’s me. Geez Cas, this is great. I’m so glad it’s you.”

“Uh,” the voice on the other end stammered. “Th-thank you, Dean. It’s always good to hear from a… happy client.”

“The hold music is killing me, though. You got any Def Leppard?”

Cas let out a short chuckle. “I wish.”

“Hey, classic rock fan. Man after my own heart.”

Although Cas didn’t say anything for a second, that didn’t mean he wasn’t smiling. Wouldn’t that be grand, if Dean had made Cas smile. He wished he could tell. He wished he could see Cas smile.

“Little bit. I prefer the older stuff.”

“Really? Got some Beatles, myself. Or, I do at the moment. I won’t in about twenty minutes.”

“Wh-what?”

“Yeah,” Dean said remorsefully. The reality of saying goodbye to that album was finally beginning to set in. “Gotta pay the bills and save up for a house. Maybe replace the timing chain on my baby.”

“Oh, you’re selling it.”

“Yesterday and Today. 1966 pressing. Not a scratch.”

Cas was silent for another couple of seconds. No typing, no fiddling with his headset… just, nothing. It didn’t bother Dean, as he was glad to just be sharing a line, so he let the silence happen without interruption.

“Which cover?”

“Butcher,” Dean answered proudly. “Got quite a few bids on it, in fact. The auction will end before I get home from work. Goodbye Fab Four, hello moolah.”

“Dean, that’s worth quite a bit of money.”

“Yeah, that’s the point.”

“It holds no sentimental value?”

The brash question stopped Dean in his tracks. For a long moment he stood there with his mouth gaping open, then slowly lowered himself into the swivel chair. Of course it was sentimental, it was his dad’s record. He held a lot of feelings for his father. He just couldn’t figure out what most of those feelings were. Anger? Love? Pity? It was a question Dean wasn’t ready for, much less ready to answer.

“I can’t think about that,” he forced out with a gulp. “Money’s tight, y’know? Gotta think with my brain, not with my touchy-feelys.”

“I see,” Cas said cryptically, a few slow keystrokes dotting the soundwaves. “I respect that.”

“Next it’ll be a Def Leppard album. Then maybe my Zeppelin misprint. I gotta admit, I’m not looking forward to seeing that one go.”   
  
“Understandably.”

“But if I wanna listen to them, well, I can do that online for free.”

Cas typed a little more. “That is certainly logical of you.”

Dean appreciated hearing another voice give validation to his calculated decision. It didn’t hurt that it was Cas, owner of the sexiest voice known to man. It was just what Dean needed, mere minutes before the end of his first auction, when his chances of getting cold feet were the highest.

“At any rate,” Cas said, the intensity of his voice shifting marginally. “Is there something I can help you with today, Dean? Or is this call strictly for leisure?”

“Is that allowed?”   
  
“I’m afraid not.”

A smile crept across Dean’s face. He didn’t even know it was happening, and if he did, he couldn’t tell the reason. Maybe it was a sad smile, knowing the only way they could speak was if something in cyberspace went wrong. Or maybe the sound of Cas’ voice was comforting, and he couldn’t help the simple joy it gave him. 

“Our pagers aren’t working.”

“Ah.”

The simple response carried an understanding air. It piqued Dean’s interest, but he wasn’t going to be  _ that person _ and ask the tech guy to talk nerdy about all the inner workings of the paging system. Dean wouldn’t be able to make heads or tails out of any of that, and would rather Cas spend the time saying other things, and not all of them naughty.

Sure, Dean wanted Cas to tell him how big his dick was, how much he worked out, and what his face looked like at the point of orgasm. But he wanted to know the cute, innocent stuff, too. He wanted Cas to tell him what color his eyes were, if he had freckles, and what his dream vacation was. He wanted to know dumb shit like Cas’ favorite color and season.

But yes, he also wanted to know the size of his cock. Sue him. He was romantic like that.

“Do you have yours handy?”

Have his handy? Have his  _ what  _ handy? Dean looked down at his lap, silently scolding his downstairs brain for going there. He had to bite his tongue, wanting so badly to blurt out something about  _ always keeping Mr. Happy handy… _

“Uh, what?”

“Your pager, Dean.”

“Yes. I have mine handy… right here.”

“Alright. Take it off.”

Dean’s cheeks flushed with color. He couldn’t believe how dirty he was allowing himself to think. He was too far gone now. His mind was in the gutter and it wasn’t coming out. If he closed his eyes, he could jerk off right now, accompanied by nothing but Cas’ voice encouraging him to remove his wristwatch.

Hands turning clammy, he struggled with the band until it finally swung free.  _ His watch, dammit, not his junk. Fucking hell, Cas’ voice was too good for pornography.  _ He could do a sex podcast and make millions. No visuals needed.

“Got it,” Dean choked out instead of the lewd moan growing in his throat. “Now what?”

“There should be a serial number on the back,” Cas instructed. “I need the first four numbers and letters to know the model I’m dealing with.”

The fact that Cas could just  _ say these things _ without knowing what he was doing to Dean was infuriating. Before reading off the alphanumeric sequence, Dean palmed at his engorging dick, covered with scrubs that did nothing to hide his excitement. He would be doing well to get off the phone without blowing his load.

It felt so damn good to have something touching him, even if it was just his hand. Through two layers of clothing. At work.

“Got it,” Dean gritted. He bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes as he pressed down on his length, now fully erect and at maximum sensitivity. Under the head tingled with want, and he abandoned ship to stick his hands down his pants and underwear, leaving the watch face down on the desk.

“Ready when you are.”

“Mm hmm,” Dean hummed, picturing Cas saying those words in a slightly different context. “First four are L, as in… lover. Four, six, and…” He squinted as he stroked his cock, eyesight going slightly blurry as he gave into the burning desire to touch himself. “G, as in… Jesus.”

“Jesus starts with a J.”

“Oh… okay. G as in, uh…”

Dean was struggling with the multitasking. G as in… gentle, as in the way he wanted to trace Cas’ body? Glistening, the way their skin would be after fucking hard enough to work up a sweat? The guttural moans Dean would pull from him? Grinding? Being a gentleman the morning after by cooking him breakfast?

“G as in giraffe?” Cas asked, tearing Dean out of his daydream, but not enough to lose momentum.

He was stroking himself in earnest now, in a groove and rapidly nearing orgasm. His body hummed with want; his mind raced with nothing but the sound of Cas’ voice. Fucking into his fist, he tightened his hold around the tip at every pass, hoping Cas couldn’t hear how loudly he was breathing into the phone.

“Yep,” he said with barely any tone. Mostly air. He had nothing left of his normal bodily functions; all efforts were concentrated at his groin, where he grew warmer, closer, hungrier. He wanted to come, yes, but a nagging voice deep inside reminded him that his hand was just a cheap placeholder for who he really wanted.

Dean wanted Cas.

“Wonderful.”

Every sound Cas made, even if it was just one word that had nothing to do with sex, was like a drug to Dean. It fed his craving, whetted his appetite, but never quite satisfied. He wanted that hand in his pants to be Cas’. He wanted to be with him, right here, right now. His only desire reverberated at the front of his mind like a rolling marquee sign, the light in his very dark world — Cas.

_ Cas, Cas, Cas… Cas. _

“I’m almost done, Dean.”

Oh, the things this man was doing to him. The way he just said stuff, like it was no big deal! Oh, how Dean yearned to hear those exact words while tangled in the sheets, panting, moaning, both of them so close to coming neither would be able to form a coherent thought. It sent a spark straight into his dick — this was it, the point of no return.

“Alright, looks like everything is in order. I restarted the calibrations and you should notice a light buzz once it fully reboots.”

“Fuck, Cas…”

“Don’t mention it. Is there anything else I can help you with, Dean?”

Holy shit, Cas saying his name did it for him. With a stifled cough, Dean shot his load into his hand, not letting up from stroking his cock until two, three, four spurts of come emptied into his underwear. Head light from orgasm, Dean bit his thumb to stop himself from groaning. His cock was overly sensitive now, and he held it still as he waited for the aftershocks to subside. 

He could feel the blood pumping through his dick. His fingers and underwear were a sticky mess. Closing his eyes, he breathed deep, mouth open and one tiny trail of sweat trickling down beside his ear.

“That’s… that’s it. I’m done.”

Cas typed away in his typically fast manner for a few seconds. “Alright, fantastic. Glad to get that squared away. I hope you have a great night.”

“Uh, I hope… I mean y-you —”

He didn’t know what he was trying to say. He didn’t even know what to say. Before he could decide on a goodbye, the dial tone rang in his ear. Dean took a breath and hung up the phone. Looking around him, he noted the absolute normalcy of the foyer around him, like he didn’t just masturbate behind the front desk.

His hand was still in his pants. His tired dick was beginning to return to its unaroused state. Cooled, coagulated come was splattered in his boxer briefs and beginning to bleed onto his scrub bottoms. He was a complete mess.

After sneaking back to his locker without anyone seeing the front of his pants, he stripped off his entire bottom accouterments and threw on a pair of jeans. He failed to remember to partake in his after-work tradition of turning on the radio, so the ride home was deathly silent. With the empty airwaves, he thought of all the ways what he had just done was super, super fucked up. What if Cas heard him? What if somebody saw him?

With every “what if” came more possibilities of getting in trouble, or even worse, Cas never wanting to speak to him again. He was pretty sure he kept quiet enough, but what was his cover if he hadn’t? What if Cas could hear every breath he took? Oh, fuck. What if Cas could hear him jerking himself off? If Dean could hear Cas typing on a fucking keyboard, then...

No.  _ No.  _ Dean couldn’t do this right now. He couldn’t lose sleep over this. He had to check on his sales, take a very,  _ very  _ cold shower, and get some shut-eye.

Hell yeah, that was something that could distract him. His sold album.

Opening up his phone, he signed into his account and scrolled to the beginning of the bids, not wanting to spoil the final amount. He wanted to be surprised. Even the starting bid was an impressive $300, and that was a whole 23 hours before end of sale. The next one was five hours later at $350, then $450. 

He smiled to himself at the $600 mark, thankful he didn’t give into that random dude’s best offer. The bids climbed to $700, and then crunch time began. At the thirty minute mark, the competitive bids began, back and forth, higher and higher. The bids passed $1,000 with 20 minutes to go, then abruptly stopped. Dean scrolled higher. 

The record went to a Buy It Now customer, who paid the outlandish asking price of $3,000.

Dean did a double take. He never meant for anyone to actually pay that. He never expected anyone to be willing. It rendered him positively speechless. He didn’t know whether to do a victory dance or pinch himself. Scratching his head at the kitchen table, his eyes bounced from the total on his phone screen to the record in the box.

It had sold. For real. For really real. 

He was getting $3,000 and losing a Beatles rarity.

The reality hit him differently than he had expected. Blinking heavily, he set his phone down and quietly took the record out, setting it across the box over the rest of them so he could see the cover. It seemed like such a trivial thing. It was a piece of vinyl wrapped in a piece of paper. And yet, he felt like he was cutting off part of himself and sending it across the country.

He didn’t know anything about the buyer yet; only that they had paid way more than the piece was worth, and that thanks to them, Dean would have groceries, WiFi, and a roof over his head for another month. He didn’t even know where he was sending the record yet, and to be honest, it didn’t matter. This music was his dad’s and now it was going to be someone else’s.

And Dean didn’t know how he felt about that.


	4. Another One Bites the Dust

Assy McAsshat had locked down all the phones again.

Unfortunately, that also meant Dean’s, and he found himself unable to check the status of his Def Leppard sale. He grumbled as a “no connection” error message flashed across his phone screen right as his next auction neared its last few minutes. He had hated Gabriel’s “no 911” policy ever since day one at  _ Felix Mori,  _ but this just added another layer of ill feelings.

Now it was getting in the way of his secondary income.

After the standby nurses carried ole Miss Margaret away on a gurney with a white sheet draped over her lifeless body, Dean emerged from the employee hallway. Several other residents watched as they rolled her out the front door to the body transport van. They whispered among themselves, a couple of them pressing balled up tissues to their faces, as the typical but never accustomed scene unfolded.

It was just a reality of the job. Hospice homes were end game, and every once in a while, another would join their predecessors in death. It made Dean think differently about life. Every day, every breath, was a blessing and a curse. With every inhale, he was given life, but also inched a bit closer to a death he could never pinpoint. 

Would it be today, hit by a drunk driver on his way home? Would it be a random heart attack in an otherwise healthy body, sometime next week? Would it be in fifty years, when bodily functions began slowly disintegrating? He didn’t know. There was no way to know.

It made being estranged from his brother that much more painful. What if the last time they saw each other, seeing red and screaming in each other’s faces, was the last time ever? If that was the last memory Dean got to have of his brother, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. And if it was Sam’s last memory of Dean, what then?

Would that be enough for Sam to finally put the past behind them?

Dean had lost too many people. Enough for a lifetime, and he hadn’t even hit middle-age. It hurt knowing his mother was robbed of a long, happy life and his dad was never the same after her death. It was painful to see his father with, as they say, the “lights on, but nobody’s home.” He saw the same dead eyes in the hospice home sometimes. He didn’t like recognizing those eyes.

It hurt to know his own pain was eating him up inside, making him bitter and hateful towards his father. He couldn’t even defend himself; he was dead. But what was Dean supposed to do? Pretend John Winchester was Father of the Year every year, until he died rubbing elbows with the wrong crowd? Forgive and forget, like Jesus with Alzheimer's?

Strolling in to interrupt his angst fest was none other than Gabriel Milton himself, playing air bass while humming “Another One Bites the Dust.” He repeated the riff, strolling from behind the employee door to meet Dean in the foyer, who was wholly unimpressed by his song choice. By the look of Gabriel’s eyebrow wiggle in response, zero fucks were given.

“You can start judging my dark sense of humor once you’ve been in this business for as long as I have.”

Dean could make a case for Gabriel’s inappropriateness, but he hummed it softly enough to escape detection by the residents standing closer to the door, so he supposed it was pointless. Besides, Gabe was probably right. Jobs involving death did things to the soul. Seeing so much death on a regular basis was not normal.

Perhaps Dean fit in at  _ Felix Mori _ better than he originally thought.

Another full day of exotic hospice care had come and gone. It was relatively uneventful, with the exception of Miss Margaret passing away. Other than that, the most exciting thing that happened was a nurse tripping over a bedpan. At the end of the day, Dean had a sale to look forward to.

He began to wonder who would buy this album. Perhaps a bootleg aficionado, or just some rich old guy remembering the golden days of hair metal. Definitely someone who buys front row tickets every time the band rolls in, bored out of his mind and complaining to the guy in the next seat about how much their music changed since Steve Clark died.

Finally able to use his phone again, he logged back on to see who took the sale. He would fetch a pretty penny for the only recording to feature Tony Kenning on drums. Of course Rick Allen was on there, too, in the live portion. It wouldn’t be as lucrative as his first sale, but he was willing to take what he could get.

He slipped into one of the residential halls, away from his boss’ prying eyes. This time he didn’t bother following the bid war drama, instead skipping right to the final number. To his astonishment, the record sold for the full Buy It Now amount of $1,000. He glanced at the bids briefly, but went right back to the only number that mattered: that bottom line.

He burst out in a quick laugh, hardly believing his eyes. It happened again. He made the full amount that no sane human would ever pay…  _ again.  _ And it felt fantastic.

Curious of who his buyer might be, Dean clicked on the sale details and squinted as he read the username. It looked so familiar. Why did he feel like he had seen that username before?

Realization hitting him, he went back to his first sale and read the buyer’s username. He went back to his new sale. It was the same buyer. 

How very odd.

Although unlikely to ever happen again, Dean saw several advantages to this. Whoever it was, they were now a repeat buyer. If he could impress them with excellent customer service and fast shipping, his chances of keeping that customer skyrocketed.

The other advantage was being able to pay for shipping only once for the two records. He was already planning on shipping out the Beatles today, but with his Def Leppard bootleg going to the same place, it made sense to send them together. He would just swing by his apartment and grab the other record on his way to the post office.

It kind of sucked leaving work without getting to say hello to Cas, but more time between just meant more things to catch him up on. It was the highlight of Dean’s day, although he seriously doubted Cas felt the same way. The poor dude probably had Big Brother listening to every call and could only get so forward without getting in trouble. Getting freaky over the phone wasn’t exactly what tech support was known for. 

Dean swung by his place for the records, and while he was there, sifted through at least two boxes until he found the next thing he was looking for. Satisfied with his spoils, he stopped by the post office to ship off the two LPs. His gaze lingered as the desk clerk placed them in a perfectly proportioned record box and packaged them up. This was it. The point of no return.

Walking out of the post office without the records felt insanely different than walking in with them. Something was lifted, but something was also missing. Like a burden was gone, but only because someone took an important belonging.

He wiped the thought from his brain. No, he couldn’t be like that about this. Those pieces of his dad, the man who kept leaving and leaving until he was gone for good, had no business meaning shit to him. Even if it was good music, it was just another reminder that John Winchester chose gang activity above raising his kids like a normal human being.

In the end, what did it get him? Dead. 

John Winchester was not a good man by any respectable human standards. He had the law constantly on his tail, and as a result, he dragged his kids around with not enough time in between stops to grow anything resembling roots. Friends? Birthday parties? What were those? Dean didn’t know.

And what did he do? Covered his dad’s ass more times than he could count. He kept the truth from Sam as long as possible, so the kid could be sheltered from the ugly reality of the family business for just a little while longer. For a while it worked, and Dean got to watch his little brother laugh and smile and dream about going to some hoity-toity college for smart kids.

Lying was worth it. Even though Sam learned the full extent of their secret life the night Dean had to explain that their father had been shot seventeen times and left dead facedown in a ditch, what was done was done. Sam might hate him for the rest of his life, but at least he got to be happy for a little while.

Dean opened the door to the beauty bar, scanning the salon with a handful of LPs and one or two 45s behind his back. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of red hair around the corner. Charlie’s eyes lit up when she saw him.

“Dean!” she exclaimed, walking briskly towards the front. “How are you? What are you… Oh god, did I miss a spot?”

He brought the stash out from behind his back with a cocky grin. “Not even close.” Her jaw fell as she read the cover on top, then covered her taut cheeks in surprise.

“You brought them!” she exclaimed. 

“I know it took me long enough,” Dean apologized, handing over the pile of Frank Sinatra vinyl. “I probably missed her birthday and everything.”

“No, actually it’s not until the day after tomorrow. Oh my god, these are amazing. I don’t know which ones to get her.”

“Uh, all of them? Duh.”

“Silly me.” After thumbing through all of them, she started reaching into her front pocket. “How much do I owe ya?”

Something deep within Dean’s gut told him not to take the money. They had already agreed that she was paying, but he felt so different about it now that he was making bank on his classic rock albums. Besides, Sinatra was a relatively common sight in record stores and it wasn’t like he was going to make much on them anyway.

“Tell you what,” he suggested. “You tell her happy birthday from me too, and we’re square.”

“Seriously?”

Dean shrugged and handed over the stack. “Eh, why not? She sounds like she’ll take good care of them.”

Charlie beamed down at the records now in her hands. “Wow, thanks! She’s gonna freak out.”

“I hope I’m not too late. You said her birthday was coming up, but that was a week ago.”

“It’s this week. Dude, this is perfect. You really didn’t have to give them away.” Holding the albums under one arm, she led Dean towards the waiting benches and bubblegum-filled glass bowls, out of the receptionist’s earshot. “Tell you what. Your regular appointments might be on a company account, but if you need anything else done, I can probably squeeze it in if you get here early.”

Dean could hardly contain his excitement over getting an additional service for free. “Brow wax?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Awesome.” Getting giddy over shit like that probably made him look like a dweeb, but he didn’t care. Personal hygiene was important and attending to small details was a luxury not lost on him. He had never had anything done to his brows, but the thought of tweezing them crossed his mind more than once over the course of his exotic healthcare aide career. The thought of ripping his own hairs out just wasn’t appealing.

Both of them took the pep down several notches once the receptionist, a smiley young man with wavy hair and bright eyes, stepped towards them with a client waiting by the front desk. “Charlie, your next appointment is here.”

“Be right there, Howard,” she acknowledged, flashing a customer service smile towards the woman up front. Turning back around, she let the facade fall, shoulders slumping. “Well, that’s my last client of the day. Wish me luck.”

Dean raised his brows, noting the woman out of the corner of his eye without making it obvious. “She a piece of work?”

“She kicks,” came the rueful reply. “But hey, my day has been made.” She tapped the stash of records under her arm. “Thanks again, Dean. See you around!”

“Bye Charlie.” 

Dean left feeling great. He had done something good, for once in his life, even if it was something as insignificant as giving his wax lady’s girlfriend a birthday present. The day could have been better if he had spoken to Cas, but he supposed the hospice technology couldn’t break every time he craved the sound of his voice. Although it would be a win for him, it just wouldn’t be fair to the universe for him to have a good day every day.

By the time he left the salon he was starving. His favorite taco truck happened to be on the way home. He didn’t usually indulge, because $3 for a taco is a lot when he could spend the same for nine bags of Ramen noodles, but today life was good and he wanted to end it with a good meal. After all, he did just make $4,000 in two days, not including his primary source of income. Enjoying the spoils every once in a while was self-care, right?

——

Meg could work some black leather, and everyone knew it. Today she was decked head to toe in a corset, g-string, garters, fishnets, and six inch heels. The flogger she held was a dead giveaway of her job that day, but it didn’t stop her from rubbing it in.

“Your go-go dance sounds fun, but I have Diamond Dom in fifteen minutes,” she announced to the clique of exotic staff that absolutely did not ask.

Samandriel took it with a grain of salt, even as he stood there proudly in his high white boots and short metallic dress. He was such a good sport, even though feminization wasn’t high on his list of preferences. Apparently, some of the old geezers put in requests to see the little guy in a dress, and Gabriel was not one to deny his residents of their fantasies.

He stood there surrounded by Lisa and Jo, both in scrubs and far less tolerant of Meg’s boasting. Everyone knew Meg was proud of her star role at  _ Felix Mori _ — hell, she hardly let anyone forget — but from the outside, it looked a lot like she was trying to one-up him.

“Nobody’s asking you to cancel your dominatrix appointment,” Jo pointed out. “It’s just a first time thing for Samandriel. That’s why we’re going.”

“We’ll watch yours next week,” Lisa extended her attempt at peace.

Meg stuck her nose up and pivoted on a heel. “Well, if that’s how you’re going to be about it.”

Dean nearly walked into her as she made the quick turnaround, but stepped back in time to dodge her. When she didn’t say as much as an “excuse me”, he squinted at her questioningly but never got a chance to comment before she marched off in those shiny black heels. He looked back around to see Lisa, Samandriel, and Jo glaring after her wordlessly.

“Looks like it’s that day again,” Dean mentioned.

“She just really likes her job,” Samandriel excused with a slight shrug. “If I got to be a dominant every week, I can’t say I would be humble about it.”

“Doesn’t mean she should rub it in your face on your special day,” Lisa said.

“I don’t even know if I like it yet. I’ve never done this gig before.”

“Well,” Jo said, slipping an arm around Samandriel’s skinny one. “We will be up there cheering you on, so if you do end up loving it, we better be the first ones to know.”

Dean’s heart warmed at the close-knit camaraderie between them. Over time, it was hard not to consider some workmates family of sorts. Everyone knew the struggles and joys of the job, as well as the drama between roles. Personally, he couldn’t think of any staff members he’d spill his guts to, but he would never shame those who found someone to confide in among the employees there at the hospice home.

Samandriel was a sensitive soul, and a real twink if Dean was honest. He was a really sweet guy, and Dean might’ve made a move if he was into emotionally vulnerable twinks. They just weren’t his type. Dean needed someone mentally solid enough to be his rock, and guys like Samandriel just didn’t fit the bill. 

“Gonna take the stage, huh?” Dean asked, taking in the go-go ensemble.

Samandriel nodded enthusiastically. “I just hope the playlist goes back online by then.”

The word  _ online  _ piqued Dean’s interest for selfish reasons, but when he backtracked, he realized how truly horrific it would be to attempt to supply one’s own music for the duration of a dance. “Wait… what?”

“Oh, it’s not a huge deal. I can plug in my phone and stream some stuff on Spotify.”

“And hope no ads interrupt?”

Samandriel’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

“I’ll do what I can to get the music back online,” Dean promised, altering his route towards the front desk. “Nobody deserves Spotify ads on their first go-go dance.”

“Thanks Dean,” Jo called after him, but it was barely audible, as his gate had turned into a full-on power walk. No one stood in his way and time was of the essence, and the fact that he would soon be on the phone with Cas didn’t hurt.

Claire was typing away at the computer with a flowery portable mug within arm’s reach. Dean paused before stepping behind the desk, eyes on the chair he had wanked off in not so long ago. Claire was absolutely clueless, otherwise she’d probably burn it, and it made Dean feel a little dirty.

But that didn’t matter anymore. Horny for Cas or not, Dean had a job to do.

Leaning his elbows on the desk, he picked up the phone and began tapping in the memorized numbers. The swift motion beside her startled Claire, who jumped in her seat at the sight of someone so close in her peripheral.

“Crap,” she gasped, pausing from the typing to catch her breath. “Don’t do that.”

“It’s an emergency,” Dean replied, interrupting the pre-recorded greeting with the 2 button. 

“What’s going on this time?”

“No music in the dance hall. It went offline.”

“Huh,” she huffed. For a moment she remained quiet, the only noises between them her typing and the hold music in Dean’s ear. After a few seconds she cracked her knuckles and stood up. “I’m gonna go… check on the condom inventory. You can sit if you want.”

Dean blinked. “You sure my fecal matter won’t get on your precious chair?”

“You’re wearing shorts, not a nasty old man thong. It’s different. Besides, bending over like that doesn’t look comfortable.”

“I’m a stripper, Claire. I’m basically a contortionist.”

“Fine then, stay leaned over like a human table. I don’t care. By the way, you owe me a hundred bucks. I saw the new resident holding hands with Evelyn yesterday.”

She left before he could make another remark, which was fine by him, even though he just unceremoniously lost a bet. The hold music abruptly stopped, signaling the split-second between tech support picking up the line and answering. This was it. Dean’s heart beat a little faster in anticipation. 

“This is Benny, how can I help you?”

Every expectation came crashing down. Time seemed to stop. The words Dean had prepared were rendered useless at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. Who was this guy? This…  _ this imposter?  _ He did not ask for some home-grown, down-by-the-bayou substitution.

“Uh,” he said after a couple of seconds of silence, just so he wouldn’t have to deal with this guy’s  _ hello, is anybody there? _ bullshit. “Yeah, the music in our dance hall is offline.”

The man called Benny typed a few keystrokes. “Hmm, that’s strange. Let me just crack open this here piñata. What is your name, sir?”

“Dean,” he replied with stand-offish shortness. “Where’s Cas? He usually answers.”

Benny chuckled warmly. “Our boy Cas is run down with a fever. Coughin’ up somethin’ awful this morning when he called out. Poor fella.”

Although Dean could sense no competitive air whatsoever in Benny’s reference to Cas, he was still jealous. It was silly and unfamiliar, knowing Cas was around other people all day and being upset by it. He had never been jealous in his life. Yet here he was, picturing Benny getting to witness the wonder that was Tech Guy Cas while Dean was getting his ass slapped by randy old fogies.

It wasn’t even a sexually-driven jealousy. Dean just didn’t find it fair that he, the person who wanted to see Cas more than anyone else, couldn’t have his wish. Benny was privileged and he didn’t even know it. The guy took working with Cas for granted, 100%. It was wrong and Dean didn’t like it.

“Well, you tell him Dean said hi,” he replied as politely as possible.

“Oh, he told me you might call,” Benny responded with a huge smile in his voice. “You seem to be the one stuck with givin’ us a ring when the computers go kaput.”

“I wouldn’t call it getting ‘stuck with’ it.”

“Not when it’s Cas, amiright?”

Dean stood straight up, letting the phone cord swing as he took a distrustful step back. “What?”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Benny scolded playfully. “I ain’t say nothin’ to him, don’t you worry. I might be only part time help, but I know a change in a man when I see it.”

“C-Cas?”

“He’s been through some rough stuff, brother. The things he’s had to hear with his own two ears… not a soul could walk away unscathed. All I’m sayin’ is, I done seen him at his worst, and then you came along and started chatting him up, and now he’s doing better. And now that we’ve made an acquaintance, I think it might be going both ways.”

Dean had no clue what to do with that information, so he just swallowed back every defensive impulse rushing through his mind and kept his mouth shut.

“I don’t know all the details,” Benny continued. “I just know he’s heard some bad things and it affected him. That part ain’t important, though. The important thing is, you’re changin’ his mood for the better. And for that I thank you.”

“I… uh… I’m… What?”

Benny typed a few more things and pressed enter hard. “Looks like your music’s back online, Dean. Took a little finagling but we got there! Alrighty then, is there anything else you need fixin’ today?”

“N-no,” he stammered. “I just… no. I’m… I mean we… We’re good here.”

“Good to hear. Been nice to finally meet you, Dean. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

“Oh uh… It’s, it’s — Okay.” Dean could not for the life of him think of a single cohesive sentence, and so he blabbered until Benny ended the call. Dial tone ringing in his ear, Dean stood there dumbfounded for a solid ten seconds before he thought to hang up his own end of the line. 

_ What. The hell. Was that. _

It wasn’t enough that a total stranger picked up the tech line, giving Dean an unhealthy dose of mental whiplash. This guy — this  _ Benny  _ — felt the need to flip his world upside down while fixing the music at the same time, like some kind of multitasking freak. Those ten minutes on the phone were so jam-packed, he could barely process what exactly had happened. So engrossed was he in his swirling thoughts, he didn’t even notice Claire beside him until she slammed a small white bottle beside his hand, still resting on the phone receiver.

“Jesus,” Dean swore with a startled jolt. 

Claire snorted. “Doesn’t feel nice when people sneak up on you like that, does it?”

Taking a deep breath, Dean let go of the phone and looked down at the bottle, then back at Claire. She was sitting in her swivel chair, rocking side to side with what looked like a flat orange pill in her hand.

“Vitamin C?” she offered, nodding towards the bottle before popping the small tablet in her mouth. “I hear there’s a bug going around.”

_ Cas, Benny, music, mood change, possible PTSD — crap, the tech guy’s workmate knows I’ve got a massive crush — what the hell did he mean by “he’s heard some stuff”? Cas, but I wanted to talk to Cas! Music’s fixed. Good. But Cas… didn’t talk to Cas.  _

“Wh-what?”

Reaching over, Claire rattled the bottle. “They’re chewable.”

Again, Dean’s eyes dropped to the small white bottle. Not wanting Claire to question his silence, he busied his mouth with the chewable vitamin, sucking on it before attempting to bite down. It tasted like ass, but at least he was protecting his immune system.

Even after the rejuvenating vitamin hit his system, he found it hard to comprehend what he had just heard over the phone. Cas was…  _ doing better?  _ Better than what? He was such a bright light in Dean’s world; who could have possibly hurt such a pure human being?

It made Dean mad knowing someone out there must be to blame for putting Cas in a bad way, mentally. He didn’t deserve that. He should be appreciated, loved, cherished. Whoever made Cas change in such a way that Benny praised Dean for changing him back, that person had some explaining to do. They better hope Dean wouldn’t be within punching distance, too.

Benny was right about one thing. It did go both ways. Dean was happier now that he had Cas in his life. Restricted though it might be, their relationship was the one bright light in Dean’s very dark world. He looked forward to talking to Cas, and if any of Benny’s hints got through to him, it was very possible Cas felt the same way. 

Dean would like to think a random stranger wouldn’t fuck with him like that. He’d like to think Benny was being truthful. But if he was, why wasn’t Cas letting it show? Why wouldn’t he respond to Dean’s pathetic advances? Was he so damaged that even reciprocating a flirtation was too steep of an emotional exposure?

If Benny was lying, then that was a pretty shitty thing to do. But if he wasn’t, then damn, maybe Dean and Cas were perfect for each other after all.

The rest of his day was spent visiting the various wings of  _ Felix Mori  _ and pining after his favorite man in tech support. Today was a free day, meaning he could mingle at his will in whatever wing his little heart desired. It was a way for the aides to explore the different options available to them. The residents appreciated the variety in staff as well, so the break in routine benefited everyone.

To start off, he watched the rest of Samandriel’s performance in the dance hall. His crowd was comprised of a couple dozen men and a handful of women. It wasn’t a full house by any means, but those present were thoroughly enjoying the show. He sat with Jo and Lisa until the end, then moved on to the dementia wing.

Folks in this part of the home were hit or miss. Each resident was either having a good day or a bad day, and it was impossible to tell until he was in the thick of it. Without disturbing those who already had an exotic healthcare aide in their suite, he went from door to door, giving company to any who cared for it.

A new resident he didn’t recognize swore up and down Dean was his old boyfriend from before the war. The man talked and talked about a houseplant he couldn’t seem to keep alive, then nearly jumped out of his skin when he pointed to a snake on the ground that wasn’t really there. Dean had to calm him down about the hallucination, but afterward started actually answering to the name the resident kept giving him. Apparently the man’s old boyfriend was called Tommy.

In another room, the resident immediately requested for Dean to take his shirt off. She didn’t recognize him, which was typical of her, so he gave her one of his aliases when she asked for a name. He obliged her wish to see him shirtless… eventually. He dragged out the fun, tugging at the hemline and turning the other way at the slightest hint of skin. After about ten minutes of teasing and her loud declaration that by the time he took it off she’d be dead, he slipped it off and slung it over his shoulder like a hand towel.

He entered the next room over with his shirt still draped over him. The resident present was a frazzled lady in bed with a tv remote, trying to change the channel. She seemed wholly uninterested in his choice of dress, dead set on watching Wheel of Fortune with her cat. After pressing a few buttons, Dean cracked it open to discover the batteries were in the wrong way.

After he completed his rounds in the dementia wing, it was close enough to quitting time for Dean to call it a day. Gabriel was nowhere to be found, which was strange, but hell if Dean cared what his boss did in his spare time. As long as he paid up every week, Dean gave zero fucks. Actually, it was kind of nice to not feel his pager buzz in the span of a day.

Dean was headed towards the front doors, the nearby carpet now spotlessly clean thanks to Nick’s cleaning service. He stopped in front of Claire’s desk and leaned an elbow on the counter.

“Your uncle go off somewhere?”

Claire blinked at him a couple of times before responding. “He’s with his cousin.”

“Hmm,” Dean hummed indifferently. “See ya tomorrow, kiddo.”

“Mm hmm,” she murmured back, lowering her eyes and beginning to type aggressively.

Dean went straight home without stopping for food. He was fairly certain there was a frozen dinner at his apartment, and if he was wrong, he could always defrost an Uncrustable and call it a night. Whatever the case, he needed to do two things: Start up another sale and work out. These processed foods were not kind to his figure.

He found some frozen pizza roles in the back of the freezer and preheated the oven. While he waited, he got on the pole and worked his core — twirling, twisting, lifting himself higher and beginning a slow, disciplined descent — until the oven beeped at him, signaling the right temperature. While his pizza rolls baked, he photographed and listed another record. It hurt a little to put his misprinted Led Zeppelin II album up for sale, but a few thousand bucks were just that no matter how he sliced it.

This one was a doozy — possibly the biggest vinyl fuck up of all time. On side one were the first four songs of Led Zeppelin II. Side two, however, played the second side of Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young’s self-titled album, released six months before Zeppelin II. It was the musical anomaly of the century, and Dean was going to make big on it. He set the Buy It Now price at a hefty $5,000 and let the bidding war begin.

After dinner he began thinking about Cas. He wondered if Cas had a cold or the flu, or something worse. Bronchitis caused the coughing Benny described, which Dean sincerely hoped against. He might even have pneumonia, which would be awful. Anything causing him pain was enough to piss Dean off, so he decided to stop thinking about that and focus on falling asleep instead.

Freshly showered, Dean collapsed into bed, mind still racing with thoughts of Cas. He already knew he was in deep, but he was so worried about Cas being sick that he couldn’t calm his mind enough to go to sleep. He grumbled into his pillow. How pathetic was he, to yearn for a man he’d never met; to worry over his health, when it was entirely possible he called in sick just to get a day off?

If Cas was alone as Dean imagined, there was no one to take care of him. Nobody was there to make him tomato and rice soup, remind him to take his medicine, and bring him tissues. If he had the flu, he needed someone to wash out his barf bucket and place a cold, wet washrag on his forehead. Dean was here, and Cas was there, perhaps thousands of miles away, the way it wasn’t supposed to be.

And so what if Dean wanted to nurse him back to health? He was a caretaker at heart. Growing up he had to ensure the safety and health of his brother while their dad rubbed shoulders with the lowest of the low. Dean was always the one who had to make sure everyone was okay. It was deeply ingrained into the fiber of his being. 

So if Cas was sick like Benny said, why shouldn’t Dean step in and be the natural carer he was? He might as well. Being apart from each other like this wasn’t right; he could feel it in his bones. He needed to be there for Cas. He needed to make sure he was alright.

It was borderline pathetic to imagine himself at Cas’ side, but it was the only move he had left. He pictured them both on his couch, Cas’ head on his lap and cooling soup on the coffee table. Dean didn’t have a face to match up with the voice, so he didn’t think about that part, instead focusing on the weight of Cas’ head in his lap and the way he sniffed after coughing.

Every once in a while Dean would hand him a saltine cracker, allowing him time to nibble at it before offering him ginger ale to wash it down. The thought of making sure Cas was fed and hydrated was soothing, and Dean felt himself relaxing against his pillow. He also imagined rubbing away the headache on Cas’ forehead, every once in a while carding his fingers through the hair of unknown color.

Next Dean would have his meds ready. Alleviating Cas’ pain as much as possible was his top priority, so keeping track of the hours between medications was easy. Cas took the pill and glass of ginger ale tenderly as Dean lifted his head enough for him to take it without choking. Afterward, they both fell into silence as the movie in the living room played, but not too loudly.

That was the moment his heart rate finally slowed to a resting pace. His muscles relaxed and eyes closed, content with the measures he had taken to ensure Cas’ comfort. That was the moment Dean fell asleep.


	5. Down With the Sickness

Dean practically plowed over his workmates as he rushed down the stairs, dead set on getting to the front desk ASAP. Gabriel had paged him with the mysterious number 3: Meet at front desk. He wasn’t usually in this big of a hurry, but a hopeful whisper in his head kept insisting that the boss man might need him to call tech, and he was aching to know if Cas was feeling better today.

He got the notification in the middle of giving a lap dance, and if he was honest, it was a relief to have an excuse to end it early. The guy was all hands, acting like he didn’t hear the repeated “quit grabbing my ass” warnings. He was on Dean’s last nerve anyway, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when the session ended before it was scheduled to. 

He careened around the corner in satin leopard undies, startling a handful of wandering residents and staff. Gabriel saw him coming from the counter, on which he was leaning leisurely, and glanced at his watch as Dean made his last few strides to the desk.

“Did I interrupt something important?” the boss asked impatiently. 

“Only the most cringeworthy lap dance the world has ever seen. I got here as soon as I could. What do you want?”

“I’ll let Claire explain. She seems to be having trouble getting the computer on.”

“Uh, okay. Did you try turning it —”

“Oh my god,” Claire barked, hands rubbing her forehead. “Yes, I did all the common sense crap. Do I look stupid to you?”

“Alright, fine. Let me guess, call tech?”

Gabriel winked and gave an enthusiastic finger gun. When he turned to look at his niece, she rolled her eyes and picked up her purse.

“I’m going to get food,” she said as she stood up. “If you rub your ass all over my chair I’ll soak your outfits in toilet water.”

“That just means I’ll get more ‘fecal matter’ on it next time I sit down.”

“Break it up, kiddos. I’ve got work to do,” Gabriel intervened.

“You would,” Dean said. “After you go AWOL yesterday, and to do what? Go to the zoo with your cousin? Play hookie?” His heart pounded with the audacity of calling Gabriel out, but to hell with it. Yesterday was really fucking weird and Dean needed something to anchor him down — some tiny nugget of truth — actual facts instead of the hodgepodge of fuckery he had endured for the past 24 hours.

Gabriel stared long and deep into Dean, like he was looking through him. It made him all kinds of uncomfortable, and Dean found himself looking off to the side to avoid his seething glare. Gabriel squinted at him, zeroing in on his very soul, and with a gulp Dean met his eyes again.

“We’re a tight family, Dean,” Gabriel finally explained. “If one of us needs something, another one of us is there. If one of us is in trouble, we get ‘em out. If one of us is sick, we go visit ‘em. If one of us is just having a really shitty day, we’re there. It’s not like the place burned down while I was gone. Capiche?”

Looking down again, Dean lowered his head as Claire brushed past him. When he looked back up Gabriel was nowhere to be seen, to his relief. All that faced him was the task at hand and a black computer screen. He stepped behind the desk, thankful beyond belief that Gabriel didn’t play the cards he could have.

He could have said “We’re a tight family, unlike some,” exposing Dean’s deepest insecurity in front of his own niece and any other Tom, Dick, or Harry within earshot. Gabriel knew something was up with Dean’s family history, given the almost complete lack of personal history on his application. He just didn’t know exactly what, and making a hurtful remark to get closer to knowing would’ve been a dick move, but it just might have worked.

He also could have called him an ungrateful brat and fired him on the spot. Giving attitude to someone of Milton blood wasn’t the smartest move — not that status ever meant anything to Dean. He didn’t give a rat’s ass who someone’s daddy was, just as long as they were decent and could earn his respect. So far Gabriel had, and today, he earned it a little bit more.

Sitting his leopard-clad butt down in the swivel chair, Dean put the phone to his ear and dialed the number. It was pretty nice that Gabriel had gotten in the habit of assigning tech calls to Dean. He didn’t overthink the reason why, as he gave exactly zero fucks. He liked doing it, so Gabriel encouraged it. That was generally the way things worked at  _ Felix Mori.  _ What was there to overthink?

Near the beginning, Gabriel had Dean list things he enjoyed doing that pertained to the job. It was part of the hiring process for everyone. After getting squared away, Dean signed up for specialized training in additional roles he found interesting. One of those things was tantric massage. When Dean went to Gabriel with the news that he loved it, the boss signed him up for weekly appointments right away.

So yeah, Gabriel assigning him tech support phone calls was pretty on-brand.

_ “Thank you for calling Milton—” _

Dean pressed 2.

As the mumbo-jumbo about the call being monitored or recorded played into his ear, Dean’s heartbeat began to quicken. Here he was, seconds away from hearing Cas’ voice again. It had been far too long, and Dean sighed with the memory of their last conversation, like a love-struck idiot.

He wanted to deny how he felt about this man he had never met, but he was too far gone. He fell asleep imagining them being cute and domestic, for Pete’s sake. How much more sappy could he get? He was a lost cause, forever ruined by the velvety voice of his favorite tech guy.

It was like some sort of cruel joke of the universe. He couldn’t see Cas and Cas was probably being eavesdropped by Benny, Sam, or their boss, whichever Milton that might be. He pictured it as forbidden love — a rivalry between the strippers and the IT department, their love torn apart by the callous demands of their respective jobs.

But nothing could stand in the way of true love. Dean would rip the lungs out of anyone who dared stand between him and Cas. He’d haul him out, headset and all, over his shoulder and into his musty old apartment. There they’d escape the world, surrounded only by each other, and finally gaze upon each other’s visage.

God, he was so fucking whipped.

“Tech support, this is Cas.”

Dean’s heart instantly plummeted from fluttering to aching at the sound of Cas’ strained voice. He had been coughing his throat raw, and he sounded much quieter. He must have coughed to the point of exhaustion. 

Shit, this was a really bad idea. Dean began to sink into shame, realizing he had been looking forward to getting this guy to talk when he had no business talking in his condition. He should’ve been in bed. This was wrong. Dean had been so selfish, he didn’t even think about what state Cas would be in until his voice rang out over the line.

“Cas,” he said tenderly, like the man on the other end would break if he blurted it out.

After clearing his throat, the barely audible sound of a sip of water emitted from the phone. “Dean.”

“Man, I called yesterday and Benny said you came down with something.”

“Ah yes,” Cas croaked, his usually smooth voice broken up by a sore throat. “The flu, in fact. Still dealing with the cough, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Damn,” Dean breathed. In that moment he wanted to tell Cas to clock out and go home. Being sick sucked, and work didn’t help, even if by some chance he enjoyed Dean’s company as much as he had hoped. “You uh… need anything?”

He had no idea why he asked. What on earth could he do? No call center employee in their right mind would give out an address, not even a P.O. Box, for care packages from seemingly thoughtful customers. Asking most likely made Dean sound like a serial killer.

Instead of telling him to fuck off, Cas chuckled, which turned into a full-on coughing fit. Dean felt bad for causing the outburst and made a mental note to not say anything too funny. And he couldn’t have Mr. Sick Guy do much of the talking. He was taking control of this conversation for Cas’ own good.

“Thank you for the kind offer. I would be tempted to take you up on it if I didn’t have someone else bring me decongestant and cough drops just yesterday.”

Dean’s heart sank.  _ Someone else.  _ “Oh… okay.”

“A relative,” he amended quickly. 

“Oh, okay.” They were the same two words, but much more buoyant this time. Dean let out a small relieved sigh. Cas had a family member drop by. If he had a boyfriend or girlfriend, that person would have probably assumed cough drop duty. A brand new spark of hope flared in his chest.

“How are your record sales going?”

Dean’s mouth dropped open at the unexpected question. He had forgotten he even told Cas about that. It felt like forever ago.

“They’re going really well, thanks for asking. Y’know it’s weird, but I keep selling to the same guy. I think I got myself a fan!”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it’s crazy, right? Some guy with a cute ass username like BeeMine69 or some shit. I mean, I don’t know if it’s a guy for sure, but that’s besides the point. I’ve sold two LPs at full Buy It Now Price, which were crazy expensive, and the dude bought ‘em right up. Right now I’ve got a Led Zeppelin misprint up, so we’ll see if he likes that one.”

“It sounds like business is good.”

“At this point I’m blown away that someone bought both things for what I was asking. That stuff just doesn’t happen, y’know?”

“Well,” Cas reasoned, his crackling voice inflection adorable. “Apparently it does happen. And I can’t think of a harder worker I’d rather have such luck befall.”

Dean blushed. This guy really was a sweetheart. 

After clearing his throat again and what sounded like biting down on a semi-melted cough drop, Cas continued. “Now, did you call just to check up on me? Or is the HP5810 acting up again?”

Dean huffed a small laugh. Would it have been okay if Dean called just to talk? Was that against policy? That had to be considered “wasting company time.” Gabriel would probably lecture him over it. And yet, the thought sounded tempting, just to talk to Cas without bothering with matters such as work.

Dates, Dean realized. That’s what dates were for. But he couldn’t have that. Cas was a big-time internet technology man and Dean was, well… Dean.

“You got me there, Cas. It won’t turn on. Word on the street is, she already tried pressing the power button twice.”

“Hmm,” came the reply, as well as several keystrokes. Cas pressed the tab button, a few more unknown letters, then enter hard. “Sounds to me like the power cord might be unplugged.”

“The — wait, really?” Scooting away from the computer screen, Dean leaned under the desk, leopard ass in the air. “She told me she did the obvious stuff. That blanket statement generally includes checking power cords.”

“It’s an easy oversight. On the back of the mainframe there should be several ports. Do all of those have cords attached?”

Dean turned the heavy box as much as possible without pulling any cords loose. His knees burned from the carpet, but he didn’t have much of a choice in positioning. “Yep, everything is plugged in on this end.”

“Alright, what about in the wall?”

Dean followed the lines of the twisted cords from the hole in the back of the desk, crawling out from under it to see them tangle on the floor, a jumbled mess all the way to the printer. The large piece of equipment hid the surge protector and wall outlets. 

“This might take awhile,” he grumbled, opting to stay on the ground and crawl as opposed to standing back up. It was awkward with one hand on the ground and the other holding a phone, so he cradled it between his head and shoulder so he could crawl with two hands.

“No rush. You can tell me about work in the meantime. What have you been doing all day?”

Dean only hesitated for a second. “Thinking about you.”

He was absolutely certain it sounded more forward than it actually was. At this point, Dean wasn’t flirting or being crass; he had really, truly spent the day imagining them together. His fantasy did not stop once he fell asleep last night. He dreamed of Cas falling asleep in his arms and woke up with his name on his lips.

It even bled into his workday. Everything that had to do with technology reminded him of that voice on the other end. He saw Cas in everything. The music was online because of him. Staff and residents could roam the world wide web because of him. Gabriel could page his employees, clock everyone in and out, and run payroll because of him.

The silence between Dean’s confession and Cas’ reply was longer than either would have liked, but Dean didn’t dare rush him. If Cas wanted to say anything at all, it had to be because he wanted to. Dean wasn’t interested in a cheap knee-jerk reaction. If Cas had to take a moment and process his thoughts, so be it.

“So have I.”

Dean nearly dropped the phone, cheeks tight from grinning and a step of his crawl faltering. “Y-you thought about me today, too?”

“Mm hmm,” he replied shyly, ending the hum with a weak cough.

Dean was almost to the printer, but he had lost all spatial consciousness. Even the rug burn on his knees had grown numb. His mind was somewhere far away, where everyone floated and the sky was rainbows and stars. 

Like a fool on laughing gas, Dean started to giggle. He was so happy he had stopped crawling, now bent over with his arms resting on the carpet and rear end high in the air. He held the phone close, like if he let go it would float away. He laid his cheek on the floor, floods of carefree delight washing over him.

This was the best day ever. He didn’t even care what happened for the rest of the week because  _ Cas was thinking about him. _

“I uh,” Cas stuttered between coughs. “Um… I’m…”

“You just made my whole year.”

Cas coughed a little, but he was smiling, too. Dean could tell. “You have also made my days much more pleasant.”

Biting his lip, Dean closed his eyes and tried to match a face with the voice. He could never quite do it, but this time he pictured Cas with hair just a little messier and cheeks just a little pinker. He must be cute even when sick. It just wasn’t fair that someone so gorgeous should be kept from his sight.

“Glad to know the feeling is mutual.”

Cas puffed a breath out of his nose, barely tonal but somehow comforting. It was an acknowledgement without excess words, which Dean could stand behind, since talking must hurt him to some degree. It was perfect, whatever it was, and one corner of Dean’s mouth stayed lifted as they fell into a comfortable silence.

He could stay like this for hours, but he wanted more. He wanted to see Cas. What color were his eyes? What mouth shape was privileged to be paired with such a voice? Was his neck long and biteable or thick and strong? Questions such as this drove him mad with desire. Whatever Cas looked like, Dean wanted all of it. Every inch of skin, every move of solid muscle.

“Dean?”

The arousing sound of Cas saying his name jolted him out of his stupor. “Huh?”

“Are you… at the wall outlet yet?”

Dean’s head shot up. Immediately he became aware of his stance, pushing himself back up from the relaxed, submissive position he had naturally fallen into. He crawled the rest of the way to the printer, peeked behind it, and found that one of the cords was, indeed, unplugged.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, balancing on his heels so he could use both hands to sort out the tangled cords. “It was unplugged this whole time.”

“Not to worry,” Cas assured him. “It happens all the time.”

Dean’s brows creased as he followed the thick of cords from the wall to the computer. There was no way anyone tripped over those things. They were up against the wall.

“Who unplugged it?”

The unconcerned shrug was evident in Cas’ reply. “It was most likely an accident. Many times people unplug one thing to make room for another without realizing they just took out the entire mainframe.”

Dean plugged the cord back in, fully unconvinced. “There’s a whole other outlet back here, empty. Someone could have just used that instead.”

“How peculiar,” Cas wheezed, a nasty cough following. It sounded awful, and Dean grimaced. “There’s no telling, Dean. All that matters is that you fixed it. You have restored balance to the universe once again.”

“Damn right,” he agreed absentmindedly, still glaring distrustfully at the trail of cords. It wasn’t a big deal, and even Dean didn’t know why he was making it into one. It just seemed so weird. Nobody ever bothered those cords. Maybe one of the residents sneaked back there and messed around with it.

Behind Claire’s back, though? She watched that area like a hawk. That space was  _ her  _ space.

“Is there anything else?” Cas asked, voice audibly reaching its limit. He sounded bad when he answered, but now he was tired and dry. “If nothing else is broken, you can tell me more about your day.”

Dean’s heart broke for Cas. He loved talking to him, but he hated how painful it must’ve been for Cas to carry on a conversation. Cas was doing it for him, too. Dean knew that. It was hopelessly romantic and it made him fall even harder for the mysterious man.

“Work has kinda sucked today. Thinking of you has been the only saving grace. But Cas,” Dean paused to walk back to the swivel chair and sit. “I’m having a lot of trouble picturing you when I don’t even know what you look like.”

Cas let out a chuckle, mercifully unaccompanied by coughing. “What seems to be the trouble?”

“Man, I gotta at least know what color your eyes are.” Dean bent down to press the power button, and the computer began booting.

“What color do you think they are?”

Dean tilted his head back and smirked.  _ Oh, it’s gonna be like this, huh? _

“I dunno. Blue, maybe.”

“Hmm, but what shade of blue? There are quite a few.”

“Are there? I haven’t seen that many.” Beginning to panic, Dean thought back to all the blue-eyed beauties he had seen. Almost all of them shared either a cold, icy blue or a muted shade that bordered on gray. Had he completely missed out on the apparent plethora of blues?

“What about your eyes, Dean?”

Taken aback by the inquiry, he leaned back in the chair as the monitor woke up. “I mean, if you’re gonna play that way, you should at least invite me to dinner and figure it out yourself.”

“Bold of you to ask me to ask you to dinner, don’t you think?”

The butterflies in Dean’s stomach started doing backflips. “At least I know your eye color now.”

“Do you?”

“They’re blue.”

“Are they?” Cas took another sip of water. “I didn’t actually say yes or no. I asked you what shade. It could have been a red herring.”

Now he was second guessing himself. It was infuriating and thrilling, like a game show. And Cas was the prize. “What about brown?”

“There are different shades of brown eyes as well. Hazel, whiskey, chocolate, amber.”

“Alright, how about green?”

Cas thought for a moment. “I’m afraid I don’t have green eyes. I will say that much. They are lovely, however.”

The threat of a high-pitched squeal grew in Dean’s throat, which he had to disguise as a manly grunt. It took everything within him to hold back from giving himself away. He wanted Cas to know, especially now since Cas apparently liked green eyes. He said they were “lovely”, the fact of which Dean would spend the rest of forever thinking about, like the softy he was. 

He wondered if Cas laid awake at night wondering what colors his eyes were.

“You gotta at least tell me your hair color.”

“Do I?” Cas questioned. “What if you’re a serial killer who enjoys capturing men with my color hair?”

Dean laughed. “What if you’re a serial killer who gets a little closer to tracking me with every call I make?”

“Nonsense. The odds of us both being serial killers are astronomical.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean tried and failed to unlock the computer when the sign-in screen popped up. It wasn’t the phone number to the hospice home, so Claire must’ve picked some super secret code. He felt like he was trying to break into someone’s diary, but it was so much fun. Dean typed in UncleGabriel (case-sensitive, of course) and “incorrect password” came up again.

“What if I want to know so I can picture us having dinner together?”

“That’s something a serial killer would say,” Cas responded.

“Would a serial killer single out a young, healthy man in IT when he has hundreds of decrepit old people at his disposal?”

“If he wants a challenge, yes.”

This one was either playing hard to get or he just  _ was  _ hard to get, and Dean couldn’t quite figure it out. If Cas wanted to end the conversation, he would have switched subjects back to computer stuff. He was deflecting, no doubt, but not by ending the conversation. He wanted to keep talking and that was good news, even if he was being a tease.

“Well Cas, if I lay awake at night and imagine you as a redhead, would you hold it against me?”

The line was all too quiet for a good three seconds, followed by a fake-sounding cough. Dean smirked as he deduced the uncomfortableness Cas was warring against. If the guy had red hair he would have said something. Or at the least, he wouldn’t have attempted to fool Dean with a fake-ass cough.

“Uh huh,” Dean dragged out. “Looks like red is off the lineup. Let’s see… blond?”

Cas said nothing, but a few staticky crackling noises interrupted the silence. He was probably adjusting the headset in lieu of making noises with his mouth, now that Dean had seen through that.

“Brown?”

“Dean —”

“Bingo!” he exclaimed, twirling the chair around in place, then going the other way to unravel himself of the landline cord. “Now Cas, are you gonna hang up on me if I ask the carpet-matching-the-drapes question?”

“The carpet and drapes at my house, you mean? I fail to see how that is pertinent information.”

“Ah, you have a house, not an apartment or condo. Interesting. I’ll add that to my serial killer file.”

“I take it you don’t, then.”

Dean blinked. “Don’t what?”

“Have a house. Home-owners throw the word ‘house’ around without a second thought. So I’m on the lookout for an incredibly sexy exotic healthcare aide who lives in an apartment.”

“How do you know I’m sexy?”

“Well,” Cas stumbled. “You are employed at  _ Felix Mori _ as a dancer, are you not? Why would they employ someone aesthetically unpleasing for a job in which you spend a large portion of your time unclothed?”

“Gee Cas,” Dean announced with a grin. “That’s a lot of words for ‘your voice sounds hot.’”

Cas forced down a thick swallow. 

_ Gotcha. _

“Looks like somebody’s got a crush.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?”

Dean scoffed. “Wh-what?”

“Why would you come to the conclusion that I think your voice sounds hot, unless you’ve already been thinking it about… me?”

It was Dean’s turn to fall deathly quiet. As the seconds dragged on, he became keenly aware of the minute sounds around him — the hum of the air conditioner, an occasional laugh in the dining hall, the tick-tock of the foyer’s grandfather clock — and realized that he had been exposed. Cas had made his checkmate, with no more moves for Dean to make. 

He was cornered.

For all their dancing around each other, and for all their playful banter, Dean had no response to this. Cas had gone from flirting to calling him out. The mask was off. The truth had been told.

Out of his peripheral, Dean saw Claire set her purse down by the computer monitor. He turned in the chair to see her leaning on the desk disapprovingly, glaring at the thin piece of leopard-patterned fabric separating his ass from her beloved chair.

“Are you done? It’s been almost half an hour.”

“Dean?” Cas’ tone was unsure, as if startled by his prolonged silence.

“Uh,” he stammered, glancing from the phone receiver to Claire. How was he supposed to continue this conversation now?  _ Here, let me just continue phone-dating you while someone listens in. Oh, you wanna know the size of my dick? Might as well send nudes while we’re at it. Hey Claire, hold the phone would you? I gotta strike a pose! _ __   
  


“Get off!” Claire hissed through gritted teeth, kicking the chair leg.

Stumbling to his feet, Dean faced away from the desk and spoke quieter. “I’m sorry Cas, I can’t… I mean someone just came up and…”

“Oh,” came the timid response. It sent a pang to Dean’s heart. He sounded like a kid feels when playtime is over, or when a crush sends back “no” circled under “do you like me?”. 

“Look man, it ain’t like that. I’ve got… company.”

“I understand.”

“No you don’t. Someone is actually here, cockblocking me.”

Dean was relieved to hear light laughter from the other end. “It’s good to know a gentleman’s intentions before meeting him.”

“Hey! That’s not…”

“Of course not. You wanted to know if my head and pubic hairs were the same shade merely for research purposes.”

Dean felt a pink flush rise into his cheeks. He darted his eyes back for a second, but Claire was unlocking her computer, oblivious to the conversation happening mere feet from her. Dean pressed the phone closer to his ear anyway.

“I can’t… I can’t talk about that stuff right now.”

“Hmm,” Cas purred, his sore throat adding even more grit than usual. “You can’t, but I can.”

Dean dipped his head back in exasperation. “C’mon Cas. That ain’t fair.”

“I suppose the next thing you were going to ask was how big I am.”

Yep, he was definitely blushing now. “Cas! Shh! You can’t… you can’t say stuff like that with people around.”

“I don’t have anyone around,” he said with the air of a casual shrug. “My part time help is out to lunch. Night shift doesn’t show up for another five hours.”

The more he tried to tell himself this wasn’t happening, the more Cas teased him. At this rate, Cas would be describing their ideal first fuck within the hour, and Dean didn’t know whether that exhilarated or terrified him. Sure, he wanted to go there, but before now it was all just hypothetical. This, right now, was real.

Letting a surge of boldness rush through him, Dean pulled a half-smile up one cheek. Gabriel would tear him a new one. Claire would ban him from ever walking behind the front desk ever again. He could get reprimanded. Written up.

It was risky and sexy all at once… risqué if you will. Dean pressed his lips together to keep from laughing at the joke, but he couldn’t help the chuckle rumbling in the back of his throat. The whole scenario was so forbidden and naughty.

And that’s exactly why he had to do it.

“Aren’t all calls recorded or monitored?”

“The only reason a call is ever pulled is for issues regarding cases,” Cas clarified. “You got the computer running just fine, didn’t you?”

“Running like a top.”

“Like me, then?”

Dean covered his gaping mouth so fast it made a clapping noise. “Damn, who are you and what have you done with Cas? You know, the shy IT nerd.”

“Nerd, huh? Is that how you picture me? Glasses, hair parted down the middle?”

“Hey man, you’re describing me in high school. Don’t be hatin’.”

“I’ve never heard of someone having an IT nerd kink, but okay.”

“First time for everything,” Dean muttered into the phone. “Does that mean I’ve got your look down? Maybe even a bow tie?”

Cas laughed, but a deep cough took over. After the sound of a paper wrapper and cough drop, he collected himself. “Now then, back to the topic of my size. I meant my weight, of course.”

The satirical tone was glaring, and Dean set his jaw in a flustered mess. “Uh huh. You think you’re hilarious. Is this how you torment those you wish to court? Try and get them to say inappropriate stuff in front of a live studio audience?”

“I can’t help but wonder about you, as well.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “You like twinks?”

“Are you a twink? You don’t sound like a twink.”

“Answer the question. Honestly.”

Cas sat quiet for a moment. Dean bit his lip as he waited, second-guessing himself more than once in the short amount of time he had to wait. He used to be far less muscular than he was now, years ago. His line of work allowed for plenty of strength training, plus he thankfully got a few brawny genes from his dad. He wasn’t jacked or anything, but he could pin another man down if he wanted.

“I like to feel like I’m not with a woman,” Cas confessed. “Not necessarily a bear — just… someone sturdy.”

A smile crept across Dean’s cheek. 

“But I wasn’t actually referring to either of our weights.”

“Neither was I, you cheeky bastard,” Dean clipped. “But hey, I feel like we’ve learned a ton about each other already. I ain’t rushing into that detail if you don’t wanna. Don’t sweat the small stuff.”

“It isn’t small, but alright.”

And just like that, Dean began stumbling over his words like a bumbling fool.  _ Did he just…? Yes he certainly did. He went there.  _

“Uh… Um… Erm,” he stuttered. “It — it’s — you’re…?”

Buzz.

Dean glanced down at his wrist, the watch vibrating against his skin. He had to do a double take, but then panicked at what he saw. The dreaded number 4.

You’re late.

“Shit, Cas. I was supposed to give Susie a lap dance.”

Walking in a tight circle, Dean tangled himself in the lead telephone cord, then whirled around the opposite direction, which only tangled him up more. Stepping out of the stretchy loops, he hopped around until he lost his footing and wiped out right behind Claire. Fallen face first on the floor, he looked up to see her staring down with one eyebrow up and fingers still typing at the keyboard.

“I’m sorry Cas, I really do wanna know the size of your cock, I promise!”

“Ew!” Claire squealed, rushing out of her chair with her hands over her ears.

The only sound over the phone was the undeniable roar of laughter. Pushing himself back to his feet, Dean carefully unraveled himself and all but threw the lead cord onto the desk. He grumbled to himself as Cas continued, laughs morphing into sobering coughs before he lost control and guffawed all over again.

“Cas I mean it. I gotta go.”

From the sound of it, the guy really was trying hard to stop. He tried to keep his mouth shut, letting the air out through his nose, only to lose control at the hands of a brand new belly laugh even stronger than the last.

“I’m — Cas, listen — I’m sorry Cas, I really need to go. Bye — hey, bye Cas. B-bye.”

With a great deal of reluctance, Dean gingerly set the phone back on the receiver. Giving no thought to Claire, who had retreated up the stairs, he booked it across the building until he reached the suite to which he was assigned. After a quick three taps at the door, he barged in to find Susie on her recliner with a blanket draped over her lap. She was watching tv.

“Susie,” Dean greeted the surprised silver-haired lady.

“Oh,” she said, blinking wildly as she eyed him up and down. “To what do I owe the pleasure, mister…?”

“Michael,” he replied. He approached her recliner with a shining smile. “You ordered a lap dance, remember? For your birthday.”

He waited for her eyes to widen at the memory, but instead, she gave a polite smile and nodded. “Ah, that’s right.”

“Are you, uh…” It wasn’t unusual for a resident’s appointment to escape their memory, but Susie’s attention was clearly on something else. “Do you want it now, Susie?”

“After Jeopardy, dear,” she replied sweetly, waving her hand toward the television. “Why don’t you sit down with me, since you’re here?”

Dean nodded, looking around the room for a spare chair. It wasn’t exactly what he signed up for, but after being thrown off his game by today’s insane conversation with Cas, he needed a little bit of calm. “Sure, I’ll just um…”

“Not over there, Mikey —”

“Michael.”

“Michael, right here.” She tapped her lap with a bawdy grin. “I can take ya, I’m sure of it.”

“Oh,” he puffed, brows shooting up. Careful to sit on one side so she could watch her show, he lowered himself onto her leg and thanked himself for the ab and leg exercises he did recently, because there was no way he was putting his full weight on her.

“That’s it,” she cooed, turning the volume up. “The game just started so you can stay for the whole thing.”

Jeopardy just started. Awesome. That meant Dean had to hunch down on an old lady’s lap, legs burning, for thirty minutes. Plus the lap dance he was assigned to do, if she still wanted it.

He was definitely clocking out after this one.


	6. The doctor will see you now

Yesterday was too much. 

In the span of a day he had made more leeway with Cas than he ever thought possible. The usually stand-offish man on the other end of the tech line had finally begun to open up, but nothing could have prepared Dean for the conversation they had. There was so much more to Cas than met the eye — or ear, rather — and he couldn’t tell if it was more terrifying or arousing.

Clearly Cas liked being in control of situations. The more Dean floundered over his own advances, the more Cas led the direction of their discussion. He was eerily calm the entire time, except when Dean accidentally blurted out the contents of their talk in front of a very unamused Claire.

This much Dean knew: Cas was recovering from the flu. He gave a crap about Dean’s side hustle. He knew how to be a tease, both in chaste and  _ not so chaste _ ways. He was quick on his feet — witty, humorous, and smart as a whip, all in one. Cas thought Dean was sexy from the sound of his voice, exactly the way Dean was envisioning Cas. That alone was enough to keep Dean in a constant state of blushing.

And who could forget the juicy stuff? Right out of the horse’s mouth, Cas was a top. Dean hadn’t even asked for that little tidbit, but okay. Cas was  _ not  _ shy — in fact, he seemed to take great pleasure in flustering Dean beyond recognition. He liked men with Dean’s body type.    
  


Oh, and he had a big cock.

All signs pointed to  _ freakin’ bang him already  _ and not being under him right now was straight-up wrong. This was cruel and unusual punishment for being in love. The universe had a fucked up sense of humor.

Right now he and Cas should be waking up from their first night together, naked and messy-haired. They should be in each other’s arms, cursing the alarm clock and peering at each other adoringly through sleep-crusted eyes. After a few sleepy kisses, they would get each other off and spoon for a few more minutes before finally surrendering to the duties of adulthood. 

They should be repeatedly distracting each other from getting ready until they’re both late, scarfing down dry cereal for breakfast before darting out the door. They’d share one last kiss as they part ways, ducking into their respective cars and driving in opposite directions. Halfway through the day Cas would realize he left his phone at Dean’s apartment, taking the walk of shame all the way back, only for them to spend another amazing night tangled up in each other.

But Cas wasn’t there, and his ass wasn’t sore from a long night of fucking. Dean was leaving the apartment alone, just like every other day, except today he was butthurt about it. All he wanted was Cas, the mild-mannered-when-shy but ornery-when-horny techie who had won his heart. He just wanted to see Cas’ face when he laughed. 

He also wanted to see his face when he was seconds away from orgasm — that face everybody acts like is sexy but it’s really not. Cas could make it sexy, Dean was sure of it.

Cas, who could make him forget all his family drama, if only for a moment. When he was on the phone with Cas, the world melted away. Just for a few minutes, his life wasn’t a disaster, he felt more love for Cas than hatred for his father, and there wasn't any tension between him and Sam.

If only it were possible to have it all.

If by some chance this fantasy of meeting Cas in person came to fruition, then what? He would still be Dean Winchester, estranged from his little brother and the son of a bad man. His parents would still be dead, his future would still be uncertain, and Sam would still hate him.

But he would have at least one good thing in his life. Maybe his life would always be a mess, but maybe Cas would just let him be a mess and love him anyway. Hell, maybe he was a mess, too. Dean didn’t know. Cas always had “game face” on, or whatever the voice equivalent was. 

Come to think of it, Cas had seemed skittish at first. Last night’s Cas was a far cry from the man he met over the phone not so long ago. This begged the question: What made him into the withdrawn misanthrope from which he was slowly breaking free?

If last night’s Cas was the “real” Cas, by some stretch of the imagination, where had he been stowing this playful and bold personality? Dean liked this Cas. Always cool, calm, and collected; but seamlessly turning the conversation in whichever direction he willed. A man in control and enjoying making Dean into the flirtee, not the flirter. 

The tables were turning and Dean couldn’t say he wasn’t enjoying it. He wanted to see where this would go. If he was head over heels before, then he would hate to know the cliche RomCom name they’d give his state now. Phil Collins might call it “in too deep.” Dean wasn’t keen to give whatever they were a title, since they weren’t really anything in real life, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to change that.

He had just swung open the employees-only door, making his way to the dining hall. Passing the foyer, he gave a casual wave to Claire, but stopped in his tracks when he caught a glimpse of the boss man, arms crossed and leaning against the front counter.

From where he stood, Dean couldn’t tell if Gabe was staring a hole into him or just looking blankly into a space Dean happened to be walking through. To play it safe, he made his way to the front desk and attempted a closed-mouth smile, although it probably came across as the nervous face one makes when walking into a panel interview.

“Dean,” Gabriel greeted shortly, meandering towards the middle of the foyer to meet Dean halfway.

Oh man, that was not a good tone.

“Look man,” Dean immediately began, hands held up placatingly. “I’m sorry about being late. I feel awful about it. If it makes you feel better, Susie had me balancing myself on her right knee for half an hour during her game show, then forgot about the lap dance. My abs are sore, my thighs burned —”

“What’s with the rug burn?”

Dean looked down at his red, raw knees, then back up to Gabe, who was tilting his head suspiciously at the sight. His boss raised a brow and slowly dragged his eyes up to Dean’s.

“You been sucking geezer dick?”

“Gabe, no —”

“I hope you’ve been charging extra.”

“No, I haven’t — What?”

“At least, not without a condom. STDs are very high in senior citizen living institutions. Don’t want you to catch anything funky.”

“I haven’t sucked geezer dick,” Dean defended himself, a little louder so he could get a word in edgewise. After the fact he realized just how loud he was and scanned the foyer for any listening ears. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Claire behind her desk with a scrunched up face, lifting a set of headphones to her ears.

Gabriel gave one slow nod. “Ah… Well if you’ve been seeing action outside of work, that’s none of my business.”

“It’s from crawling across the floor back there to plug in the computer.” Dean pointed to the space behind the front desk. “Which reminds me, the cord was unplugged.”

With a short glance towards the front desk, Gabriel paused for a beat and shrugged. “So?”

“Why the hell was it unplugged?”

Narrowing his eyes, Gabriel cocked his head again, this time in confusion. “Do I look like a psychic to you?”

Dean rolled his eyes, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Forget it. It’s just weird that — No, forget it.”

“Moving on. I was going to metaphorically slap you on the wrist for being late to your appointment, but it looks like the karma took care of at least part of your punishment. Now do you see why I favor structure and punctuality? It’s because it’s good for the residents at their age. You do something off-schedule and it throws their whole day off.”

“Yeah, I understand,” Dean conceded, voice small and head lowering.

_ Worth it, though. _

“I know you enjoy being the lifeline between us and tech support, but if it’s going to come between you and your primary job, we’re going to have a problem.”

Dean’s head shot back up.

“First and foremost, you are the lifeline between these residents and their sexuality. I can’t have you endangering that. It’s an important job, Dean.”

“Gabriel wait,” Dean pleaded, eyes widening in fear. “I won’t let it happen again. You gotta believe me. I learned my lesson, I swear.”

“Like I said, being late for your appointment was a punishment in itself. However, I have to give you some type of reprimand. It’s fair to the rest of the staff. You and I know karma bit you in the ass, but nobody else here does.”

Dean took a deep breath and tried not to jump to conclusions. When he was a kid and he abused a privilege, that privilege was taken away. His fears told him the punishment fit the crime, but his heart begged it not to be so.

“It’s only for a week, alright Dean-O?”

Heart pounding, tears stinging the backs of his eyes, Dean held his breath. 

“No more calling tech support.”

“No,” he whined. “Gabe, c’mon man. I promise it was a one-time thing… You gotta believe me… I lost track of the time but I got off as soon as you paged me —”

Gabe put up a hand to keep Dean from getting up in his space. “I’m sorry Dean, but it’s only for a week. Pinky promise. You know I have no qualms about you calling tech. Hell, I’ve been encouraging it. But the job comes first.”

Dean backed off, body bent over in anguish. Needing to busy himself with something he crossed his arms, lifted one to rub his eyes. How could he be so careless? Now he had to live with the consequences of breaking Gabriel’s house rules. Punctuality was a non-negotiable at  _ Felix Mori _ and everyone knew it from the moment they turned in their application.

He could have kicked himself. He wanted to. Why didn’t he just glance down at his watch even once while Cas was getting him all hot and bothered? Served him right for being such a teenage angst fest about it. This wasn’t a bedroom decked in feathery boas and a canopy curtain draped over the bed frame. There was no giggling and nail polish as he conversed with his sweet baboo on his princess duvet.

This was work and he had crossed a line.

Still, it was one time, which kinda pissed him off. Gabriel’s tardiness policy left zero room for error, unless previously discussed and excused. Although it sounded strict, he didn’t rule with an iron fist. He scheduled plenty of time between appointments and was more than willing to adjust the schedule ahead of time.

In the end, it was Dean’s bad. But that wasn’t going to stop him from sulking.

“Alright, quit pouting,” Gabe chastised. “You’ve got dining hall duty for lunch hour. Be on your best behavior… We’ve got some guests scheduled to come in.”

Barely listening, Dean kept his eyes down and nodded, waiting until Gabriel walked away to drag himself into the dining hall. His feet felt like lead with every step. Discipline never put one in a good mood, but it wasn’t a good headspace to be in when one was expected to be the pretty thing dancing on the table.

However, he didn’t want to get in any more trouble for half-assing his ass-shaking, so he grumbled to himself and straightened his back before walking into the spacious cafeteria. He had plenty of time tonight to brood over the unfairness of it all, but he couldn’t think about that right now. For the rest of his workday he had to be Doctor Smith, health extraordinaire with a sensual twist.

His outfit was a pair of light blue shorts, made to look like scrubs but at boxer brief length, a matching mouth mask, and white latex gloves. Around his neck hung a stethoscope — a real one, not a headset in disguise like Lisa wore. The only other thing worn above his waist was his watch, but the outfit’s crowning jewel was much lower and drew attention to his athletic thighs.

White cowboy boots. Man oh man, did company credit cards have their perks.

He couldn’t wear them outside of work, which was a shame, but hey, the boss let him pick out at least a few of his own duds. Gabriel might have raised a brow at his choice of footwear, but he couldn’t argue with Dean’s inspiration from his favorite procedural hospital show. Dr. Sexy’s boots might not have been white, but he wanted them to stand out more than brown. Plus, they matched the gloves.

He was so focused on getting into the right mindset that he didn’t notice someone walking beside him until she spoke up.

“I dig the outfit.”

He looked to his side to see Jody, a real nurse at  _ Felix Mori  _ and one he didn’t see nearly as often as he would like. She was one of the only hospital-sanctioned professionals that didn’t roll their eyes at the aides, but chatted them up and respected them as experts in their field. If she was here, that only meant one thing.

“Jody,” Dean replied, mood instantly lifted. “Is it that time again?”

“You know the drill,” she said with an exhale. “Everybody lines up after lunch. Urine samples, blood work, and swabs for those who need them.”

_ Felix Mori _ took sexually-transmitted diseases very seriously. It was one of the many things that set them apart from homes that swept genital issues under the rug and acted like old folks didn’t get it on. Jody came in to test twice a year and 100% attendance from both residents and staff was mandatory.

“Did you bring anyone with you this time?”

“Donna,” she replied. “You haven’t met her yet.”

“I look forward to it.” Both of them walked through the open double doors that separated the hallway from the cafeteria. The residents were all seated with their plates, making conversation and eagerly awaiting the show Dean and his fellow aides would provide. “See you ladies after lunch.”

Jody smiled and took a turn towards the kitchen, staying out of sight of most of the room. She had been mistaken for an aide more than once, to Dean’s knowledge, and explaining to a table full of horny hospice residents that she was an  _ actual  _ nurse had proven more complicated than it sounded. Undetected by more than a couple of tables, she disappeared into a room off the kitchen to retrieve the supplies needed for her twice-yearly visits.

Dr. Smith was a hit, just like the first time he was assigned in the dining hall. He needed to ask Gabriel for more visits in this wing. It was fun. Lisa was the main attraction in the dining hall on a regular basis and made the experience enjoyable for everyone. She was in charge of the music choice, theme, and any games they might play. Dean appreciated the work she put into this corner of the home and saw it for the art form it was, so he wanted in.

As he walked towards the closest table with an empty chair, he spotted a few unfamiliar faces scattered throughout the room. Most of them must be relatives, from the ease and familiarity between them and the residents. Several of them were quietly watching their surroundings however, which gave them away as first-timers. It was always so obvious who had grown comfortable with the _ Felix Mori  _ culture, as opposed to the newbies.

But there was one face that Dean instantly recognized. Near the center of the room, at a table with Gayle and Mildred, sat Charlie. Beside her was another young woman who Dean assumed to be her girlfriend, Dot. At first Charlie didn’t notice him, but when he waved at them from the front of the room, Dot nudged her, and Charlie looked up.

Face lighting up instantly, she put her chat with the elderly couple on hold to wave both hands like an excited kid at the theme park. She pointed at him and said something to Dot, who gave an understanding nod, then a much more controlled but equally friendly wave. Gayle and Mildred laughed at Charlie’s excitement and asked her something, after which she calmed down and continued their conversation.

It was impossible to hear them above the clanging silverware, talking, and increasingly loud music, but if Dean had to guess, Charlie was explaining to Dot that he was responsible for her new Frank Sinatra records, and discreetly explaining to the residents that he frequented her salon. Whatever the case, it was time to give these ladies and gentlemen some healthy shit. Lisa cranked up the volume and walked into the room, and that was Dean’s signal.

He stepped from the empty chair onto the table, surprising his circle of onlookers and earning a squeal out of one of the women. Two men and three women sat watching as he took up the bowl of cored strawberries in the center of the table and took one in between his gloved fingers. He marched around the circle proudly, careful not to knock over their plates with his white boots.

“The doctor is in,” he announced above the blaring music. Thankful for Lisa’s ability to discern good music, he moved to the beat of 80s hair metal and let it wash away the remnants of his bad mood. It was so much better than the mid-century bebop Gabriel played in the common areas, and if the old folks didn’t like it, they either didn’t care enough to let it show or forgot as soon as Dean stepped onto the table.

One of the women joked about needing a check up to which the other five residents chuckled. One of the men joked about needing a prostate exam; Dean had to bite his lip to keep from erupting in laughter along with everyone else at the table. 

Singling out one of the three women, Dean bent over and held a strawberry to her mouth, looking at her through batting eyelashes and pouty lips like a pinup. Saying he could feel people staring at his arms, shoulders, and ass sounded impossible, but he swore he could, because every person at that table had their eyes somewhere on him at this moment. This table’s worth of an audience was all his. 

“I think you better take this, miss,” he growled, to which she giggled before opening her mouth to let him place the fruit there. “Doctor’s orders.” She blushed as she chewed, looking side to side to her tablemates, who were covering their own coy laughter with their napkins.

“No apples in there, right?” a man asked — the same one that commented about a prostate exam. “Don’t wanna keep you away, doc.”

“That’s right,” the other man added. “An apple a day keeps the doctor away.”

Dean stepped over to him and bent over with a strawberry, placing it in front of the man’s lips. “But if the doctor’s cute,” he said as the man bit down on it, “screw the fruit.”

The shy ladies giggled, and with a wink, Dean turned around to finish dispersing the strawberries. He sneaked a glance at the center table, on which Lisa was parading around with her bowl of strawberries. Her audience included Charlie and Dot, who had all eyes on the aide, laughing and cheering along with Gayle and Mildred.

It may have only been one piece of fruit per person, but at least this way Gabriel knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that everyone in the dining hall had consensually ingested at least one healthy item. There was more than one way to get fruits and veggies into their stomachs, but not everyone chose the healthiest options at the cafeteria. As it turned out, adults were a lot more like children than they’d ever want to admit. 

The rest of lunch hour went by smoothly. Everybody in the room got the full treatment: a plateful of chicken pot pie and strawberries hand-fed by their table topper. After every table had been visited by either Dean or Lisa, they turned the music off in preparation for the inevitable visit from the boss man himself. On a day like this with required house-wide participation, the place was due for some announcements.

“Ahem,” Gabriel began, speaking into a headset that fed his voice through the speakers. Half of the room looked at him while the other quietly ignored him in favor of the last few bites of their chicken pot pies. It was a tough crowd when they were all gathered together, but the announcement was short enough to mostly keep their attention.

“We have two very special guests here today. As you all know, we conduct STD tests twice a year. After lunch, everyone will have a chance to meet Jody and Donna as they take your samples. After you’re done you will be free to retire to your suite for the rest of the day, or fill your afternoon with whatever activities you wish. Please note that the next two hours are blocked off for this project, and this project alone. Please do not leave until your session with Jody and Donna is complete. Thank you, residents and staff. Guests are not required to participate. Have a great day!”

Dean stood near the double doors and just barely heard one of the women at a nearby table whisper, “Isn’t he the one we threw mud at the other day?” Another at her table nodded and said something he couldn’t make out.

Jody rolled a cart full of neatly stacked sample cups and lids, along with a large covered container he presumed to be full of blood work equipment, to the same side of the room Gabriel had stood to make his announcement. Donna followed behind, a smiley blonde who seemed excited to be there.

“Who’s first?” Jody belted into the crowd, no mic needed.

Dean glanced across the room of apprehensive residents and decided to be the hero they all needed. Charlie caught his eye as he began walking through the room. He mouthed “wait for me?”, to which she nodded and gave a thumbs up. Once he made it to the cart, Jody smiled and motioned to a chair hidden behind all her equipment.

She swabbed his arm, took some blood, and gave the syringe to Donna, who was in charge of labeling it with his name and placing it in the container. Dean knew the drill. After everyone was accounted for, Jody rolled the blood off to the lab, where the samples would be analyzed and results sent to each participant.

After the quick prick-n-suck, she handed him a cup and lid. “You know what to do,” she said, tilting her head towards the bathrooms located off of the cafeteria. “Next! C’mon folks, let’s form a line. Don’t be shy.”

——

Being the first one done with getting tested meant having the most time to burn while the rest of the home was working their way through the line. Dean, Charlie, and Dot took off for ice cream — the perfect thing to balance out Gabriel’s meager but sexy appeal for eating healthy. It was a luxury Dean rarely indulged in, but he needed something to get his mind off his recent loss of privilege, and his two new friends seemed like just the thing.

“So,” Dean said after they all sat down in the ice cream parlor with their cones. His was vanilla and chocolate swirl soft serve. “What do you ladies think of the place so far?”

“Best lunch ever,” Charlie replied, wiping a drip of cookies and cream off her chin. “Your friend over at our table definitely sealed the deal for us.”

“If she’s still here by the time you two are down with dysentery, I’m sure you can make a special request for her to visit you often. I have a few regulars myself.”

Previously too occupied with her strawberry cone, Dot spoke up. “She could strangle me by her shoelaces and I would thank her.”

Dean snorted a laugh at the woman of otherwise few words.

“Oh, Dot’s always like this,” Charlie assured him. “She just has to warm up to you first.”

“Ah,” Dean huffed. “The ol’ ‘quiet until you get to know her’ type.”

“Until you feed my Sinatra habit and work at my dream hospice home,” Dot corrected. “You’ve been doomed from the start.”

“Who’s gonna take over once Gabriel Milton is old and moldy?” Charlie asked, changing the subject with a creased brow.

Dean pursed his lips in thought. “Probably Claire. She’s his niece. She’s cut out for the job — tough as nails but a good heart.”

“The girl at the front desk?” When Dean nodded in reply, Charlie gave an understanding smirk. “Yeah, she’s nice. She signed us in when we arrived.”

Dean instinctually glanced down at his watch, even though he had plenty of time. It was the only piece of work “clothes” he hadn’t replaced before leaving with Charlie and Dorothy. During his breaks he usually kept on whatever he had been wearing, but then again, that was within  _ Felix Mori _ walls. Here among the general public, he was in jeans and a henley. 

His watch reminded him of work, which reminded him of Gabriel, which reminded him of the fact that he was banned from calling tech. Scolding himself for letting himself think about  _ the thing,  _ he tore his attention away from his wrist and back to the task at hand: finishing his ice cream cone. Nobody was allowed to be sad while eating ice cream. It was against the rules of the universe.

“How about you, Dean?” Dot asked. “Tell us something about yourself.”

“Huh, let’s see. I dance around mostly naked in front of eighty-year-olds for a living…”

“Dork,” Charlie laughed. “We mean something about the real you. Outside of work.”

The Real Him? Dean wasn’t sure who that person was anymore. He had become so engrossed in work, and on purpose too; the more hours he put in, the less time he had to deal with his life problems.

_ The real him  _ was the son of a gang member who left his sons only slightly more in death than in life. That person was a loser who changed his voice when he talked to his brother for the first time in years, masturbated to tech support at work, and sold family heirlooms to make ends meet.

Dean didn’t want anything to do with the real him.

“I’m kinda boring,” he said, looking down at the last nub of cone in his hand with a lazy shoulder roll.

“He has a record collection,” Charlie offered to her girlfriend. “I hear he has a Zeppelin misprint.”

“I don’t know what that means, but it sounds pretty cool,” Dot admitted, shrugging noncommittally. “By the way, I’m loving the records. Many have sung _ As Time Goes By,  _ but not like Frank can.”

“Yeah, my dad liked that one,” Dean said with a nostalgic nod. 

“Okay,” Charlie interrupted. “So you’re an exotic healthcare aide with a killer record collection on the side. Anything else filling your spare time?” Her eyes darted around as if looking for a gentler way of asking and finding none. “Any...body? Special, I mean?”

Dean exhaled, looking up at her sharply. “Not really.”

Dot narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean, ‘not really’?”

Biting his bottom lip, Dean leaned back in his seat, facing the reality of being cornered. He wanted to use a vague blanket statement to gently imply it was none of their business, to sweep it under the rug, but the truth was, he wanted to tell them. He wasn’t even sure why, since it was unlikely his dream of meeting Cas would ever come true, but the fact remained.

“He’s —” he began, but smashed his lips together when he realized he had no The Guy I Like speech prepared.

One of Charlie’s brows shot up.

He held a hand up. “We’re not —”

“Not yet,” Dot sing-songed with a wiggling pointed finger. “Maybe not yet, but if you were…?”

“When, not if,” Charlie corrected, lowering Dot’s hand. “Be positive.”

“Ladies, he’s way out of my league.”

This time Charlie was the one to look up with daggers for eyes. Admittedly, it was a bit terrifying, like a mother hen staring down her wayward chick. “I highly doubt that, Dean.”

Dean furrowed his brows and blew a puff of air out his nose. Charlie was proving to be a pint-sized common sense filter, and he wasn’t sure if he loved or hated it. It was what he needed, but she was so damn  _ honest  _ about it. Had he spent so long lying to himself that the truth was just that jarring?

“You’re a nice guy,” she continued. “And I don’t mean ‘nice guy’ as in ‘the entitled d-bag who calls himself a nice guy.’ If you like this dude you’re talking about, you should tell him.”

“I’m pretty sure he knows.”

“Well? Does he like you back?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Dean glanced down at his watch again. It hadn’t buzzed or anything, and he wasn’t late; it was a subconscious thing. Somehow it tied him to Cas, and that grounded him. It made no sense, but for the next seven days staring at that watch was as close to hearing Cas’ voice.

“We haven’t technically met,” he explained. “We’ve only talked to each other over the phone.”

“Did you meet online?” Dot asked.

“Not exactly.”

Charlie squinted. “I’m so confused, but whatever. The point is, you should meet in person and get everything out in the open. That way you can both figure out what exactly is going on between you. Phone convos are nice, but can be hard if that’s all you’ve got.”

Dean shifted in his seat. “It’s complicated, alright?”

“I think that’s enough relationship advice for one day, Celeste,” Dorothy said with a gentle elbow jab. Although Charlie looked disappointed to end the discussion, she accepted her girlfriend’s assessment.

Dean felt good about finally saying out loud that he had feelings for someone, but he was glad the conversation ended where it did. The whole situation was more complex than he was comfortable admitting in this setting. Nothing about this was normal by anyone’s standards. 

People didn’t talk naughty bits with tech support. Or if they did, tech support generally called HR about it. This love story was unconventional, to say the least. They flirted between broken modems and talked dirty while plugging in cords. Dean had gotten off while Cas quite literally talked nerdy to him. Had Cas gotten himself off imagining Dean on a pole or grinding down on his lap?

It was official. Sparing Charlie and Dot of the gory details was the right call. His love life was weird as fuck.

“I won’t have a chance to talk to him again until next week,” he said, both an honest truth and a way to keep from having to bring it up again for a solid week.

“We believe in you,” Dot promised. “Break a leg.”

Charlie had a glint in her eye, like she already knew that everything was going to be fine in the end. Like she could see right through his bullshit and into the future. It was both empowering and unsettling, the way someone could say so much with a single look. She smiled at his unsure frown.

“You got this,” she said.

Dean’s lip curled up in response. He took hope in her assurance, carrying her optimism back to work and all the way home once his shift ended. She made it sound so simple, and although nothing was ever  _ that  _ simple, maybe it wasn’t as bad as he was making it seem. There was a chance she was right and he could make it until his probation period ended.

Maybe this week wouldn’t be so terrible after all.


	7. You've heard of horny hospice? Now get ready for... CARNAL CAR

This week was even more terrible than he imagined.

Withdrawal symptoms haunted Dean for the next few days, ranging from trouble paying attention and a short temper to horniness at the worst possible moment. Resentment bit at him every time he saw Claire on the phone — it didn’t matter that she was most likely on a call with a potential resident’s relative; the fact of the matter was, she had the freedom to call in computer problems and Dean didn’t.

It wasn’t fair that Claire lit up like a smiley neon window sign every time Kaia visited the front desk, or when Gabriel came in one day with a hickie, or that every single person with a dick in this institution was getting use out of their condoms except Dean. The universe simply wanted him miserable. There was no escape; this was his prison until his tech probation was over.

Worse still was his conscience. Somewhere around the fourth or fifth day, it hit him that Cas was probably wondering why someone else was making calls to tech support. Their last conversation had bordered on raunchy and then suddenly Dean was out of touch. What if Cas thought he had scared him away? 

If the situation was reversed, it would have been one of the first things to cross Dean’s mind. The thought crushed him, and he wanted nothing more than to give Cas a call and apologize profusely. He wanted to tell him that he didn’t mean to ghost him, that he was still interested as ever, and to pick up where they left off. 

What would become of them after a full week of radio silence? Dean would ring and Cas would answer, and Dean would have a lot of explaining to do. It would be awkward as hell, trying to convince Cas that he wasn’t the asshole he appeared to be. The feelings were still there, even after Cas opened up more than he ever had — more so, in fact — and Dean wanted to hear more.

He wanted Cas to tell him all about why he used to be so cold and distant. When did this happen? Who hurt him? Who did Dean need to beat to a pulp? He wanted Cas to tell him his hopes and dreams. Had he found his ideal job in IT? Did he come from something else entirely that wasn’t quite the right fit?

And heaven help him, Dean wanted Cas to tell him what he wanted in the sack. He wanted to see the look on his face when he was living out his wildest fantasies, reaching orgasm while feeling the greatest pleasure he’d ever had. He wanted to know the taste of Cas’ skin and which parts of it he could send chills up when he breathed and licked and bit on it.

There was the horniness again, right in the middle of blue pill distribution.

How very fitting.

He hoped no one would notice. Unaroused, he could fill a pair of underwear enough to impress even the worst-sighted of the residents. But this bulge growing between his legs at this moment was no floppy, that much was obvious. 

He had on satin mint green boxer briefs and a matching robe, which he wore unbelted. It wasn’t even a bathrobe, it was more of the “I’m getting dicked down” type. Hiding the toned strip of skin from neck to belly button seemed like a stupid idea until little-mister-how-do-you-do came to town. Now the residents’ eyes wandering lower than his waist was the only thing he could think about.

Like anything else at Gabriel’s horny hospice, there was no shame involved in forming a line for erectile dysfunction pills. Dean stood behind a fold-up card table with shallow plastic cups in neat rows and simply supervised as penis-owning persons took no more than they should before retiring to their suites.

And then he saw it: The cheeky smirk of the scrawny bald guy next in line, who had caught sight of his boner. Dean cursed under his breath and bit the inside of his cheek as the man walked up to the card table. Lifting a brow, he met the resident’s eyes with an irked glare, daring him to speak up about what he had seen.

“You already got yours, I see?” the old man chortled, sparing one finger to point downward as the rest curled around one of the shallow cups.

Exhaling, Dean closed his eyes for a second to hide the fact that he was rolling them. “Enjoy your evening, Mr. Schubert.”

The scrawny guy gently shook the dish as he stepped away. “Oh, I will now!”

Dean groaned to himself, grateful at least for the fact that the men behind Mr. Schubert were too hard of hearing to catch his bawdy announcement and too nearsighted to notice Dean’s erection for themselves. At least, what was left of it. Nothing like an interruption to his daydream to ruin the mood.

At least his unwelcome boner was receding.

While on a break, Dean checked on his Zeppelin listing to find that bids were coming in left and right. He felt more apprehensive than usual about this one. Maybe it was the strange sensation of having money to spare that made it feel wrong. His two previous sales had gone so well, he could afford to take a few weeks off from his side hustle, with plenty to spare for car restorations and his house fund.

Or maybe the old guilt about selling pieces of his father was resurfacing. If he was honest, he loved music from rock’s golden age, regardless of whether or not it was stuff from his dad’s generation. Dean had to keep repressing the feeling that his dad was rolling in his grave with every sale he made.

_ Ain’t nothing I can’t just stream on YouTube,  _ he told himself.  _ It’s all the same stuff. One’s just online and the other on vinyl. _

Reasoning with himself did little to appease the nagging in his gut, so he just kept the listing up, hoping the feeling would go away once the winning bid ended the sale. Besides, he could complete multiple projects on his beloved classic car with the extra money, plus be that much closer to owning a home.

His mind wandered to Cas again, as if he hadn’t had his fill of guilt already. A couple more days remained of his exile from the front desk phone. He could count on one hand the times he walked by without Claire sitting at her station, and those few times he only considered breaking the rules for a second before common sense steered him back on the right path. Gabriel could catch him, which meant an even steeper punishment.

That’s when he thought of it. The idea was absurd, but so was Dean’s crush on that guy from tech support. He wouldn’t chance saying it out loud, to himself or anyone else, for fear the very sound of him vocalizing the idea would be enough to knock some sense into him.

He was going to call tech support on his personal phone.

Cas worked day shift and the sun was still high in the sky, which meant there was little chance of anyone else picking up. Dean set an alarm on his phone just in case he lost track of time again, then threw on a pair of pants and went out back to sit in his car. He started her up and let the engine warm up, using the time to chew on the inside of his lip and go over the phone number in his head fifty times.

He dialed the number. This was it. No turning back.

_ “Thank you for calling Milton Partner Companies technical support. Your call is important to us. For Raphael and —” _

Dean pressed 2, his nerves slowing down his reflexes considerably. He had almost forgotten  _ Felix Mori  _ was number 2, but hearing the recording jogged his memory. His heart hammered in his chest as the part about the call being monitored played, and he let out a slow exhale as the hold music played.

Why was he so nervous about this? It was just a check-in. Nothing was broken — besides his heart — he simply wanted Cas to know he wasn’t made uncomfortable by their previous chat.

Then again, maybe that was why he was nervous. This rendezvous was super against the rules Gabriel had laid out for his probation. If he found out, Dean could get in even more trouble. Gabriel had explicitly said “no more calling tech support.” Exact words. However, that could have implied the use of Claire’s desk phone.

What about this? Dean was making a personal call on his personal phone. Not quite the same thing.

“This is… Cas?”

Dean paused at the strange greeting, almost a question. “Cas? It’s Dean.”

“Dean,” he replied, voice much more sure this time. “Why are you… calling from a different number?”

It was then Cas’ initial confusion made perfect sense. They must’ve had caller IDs at the center for ease of identifying which of the Milton companies needed assistance before even answering the phone. It made sense; it was effective. And it meant Cas was staring at his number.

“Oh, that,” Dean choked. “Th-that’s uh… that’s me, mine, um… That’s my cell phone number.”

The silence that followed was the most tense four seconds of Dean’s life. Would he laugh? Scoff in disgust? Hang up without another word?

“Oh,” he said at last. “Is the phone at the front desk not working?”

“It’s not like that.” The more Cas talked him through this, the worse Dean’s idea sounded. He had to get to the point and fast. “Nothing’s wrong, I just needed to talk to you.”

Cas got quiet again. Dean didn’t like it. This sounded a lot like the old Cas, who was mostly work and no play, with little to no room for forward callers who found his voice hot.

“You… you want to talk to me?”

“Yeah Cas. Long story short, I haven’t been able to call you all week, so I improvised.”

“Oh.” The air was laced with discomfort, which Dean didn’t know if he was imagining or not, until Cas spoke again. “Dean, I need to apologize for my conduct during our last conversation —”

“No,” Dean cut in. “You don’t. Shit, I knew this was going to happen.”

“My behavior was deplorable and extremely unprofessional.”

“Dammit Cas, aren’t we past that?”

“Past what? Acting like mature adults?”

“Yes,” Dean growled. “I don’t call you ‘cause my boss assigned me to phone duty. I call you ‘cause I enjoy talking to you.”

The staticky sound of a breath against the microphone allowed them both a moment to collect themselves. “I enjoy talking to you too, Dean.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Besides the fact that I acted inappropriately over the phone?”

“Did your call get monitored?”

“No.”

“Then there is no problem.” Dean pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road. He needed to be moving if his mind was going to keep doing backflips like this. “It’s a two-way street, man. I wanted you to act inappropriately. Hell, I didn’t want you to stop.”

It was almost audible, the wheels in Cas’ head turning, and the silence that followed Dean’s confession was far more comfortable than those before. Cas was smart; he could put together the pieces: the days without a call, their current forbidden rendezvous, Dean’s lack of regret.

“You hung up on me.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you were laughing your ass off too loud to hear me. I kept saying I had to go and I was late.”

“Oh, I apologize,” Cas said with realization. The whole damn thing was dawning on him. 

“Wait, you’re apologizing for laughing?”

Cas began to chuckle at the memory, which turned into open-mouthed laughter. It was beautiful to hear that sound again, after days of nothing. Dean was tempted to laugh too, and he might have, if he wasn’t concentrating so hard on making his romantic intentions known.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said among the laughter. It was full force now, coming from deep within his belly and making his voice crack. “But I haven’t laughed that hard in a very long time.”

Dean bit his lip. The whole state of things was laughable, and for good reason. If their naughty game hadn’t ended in him being late and ending the conversation far sooner than he’d like, it would have been even funnier.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Dean said as Cas continued to cackle over the phone. “It was pretty funny. Just wish we could pick right back up. I ended up late for my next client and my boss was pissed, but you’ve been on my mind all week.”

Cas chuckled out one final huff. The air felt clear again. He sounded familiar again — the new, flirtatious Cas was back. Dean took a right turn at a light and cruised toward a residential neighborhood, easing into a slower speed. The steering wheel felt tight. One more thing to add to his list of projects.

“Gabriel can be unyielding in his pursuit of punctuality.”

Dean furrowed his brows. Somehow, Cas knew who Gabriel was. Moreover, he knew Gabriel was a stickler for being on time. He supposed it made sense, with how Cas worked for one of the Milton companies. Maybe he had been around long enough to know all the drama, even from the other end of a phone line.

“Back to our previous topic,” Cas continued. “Where exactly did we leave off?”

Dean let out a nervous breath. “Um, well you see… It was about your, uh…”

“Ah,” Cas dragged out. The little shit was grinning, Dean could hear it. “That’s right. I remember now.”

Dean’s heartbeat began to quicken. The deep rumble of Cas’ voice crawled across every nerve in his body, zeroing in on his dick. He groaned at the sensation, shifting his hips in hopes of just a brush of friction between fabric and skin. It took him until he palmed his growing erection before he realized he made the noise out loud.

“I believe my exact words were ‘it’s not small,’ if memory serves me right.”

“Y-yeah,” Dean coughed, one hand on the wheel and the other in his lap, cell phone cradled against his shoulder. The neighborhood was serene in the afternoon lull between lunch and quitting time for most 9-5ers. No one would see him if he pulled over and took care of himself, and the direction of his and Cas’ conversation was making it very hard not to.

“I hate to brag,” Cas said nonchalantly. “And it’s a fairly common practice for men to exaggerate.”

“But not you, huh?” Dean surmised. “Something tells me you’re not into bullshitting people about that kinda thing.”

“I’d rather underpromise and overdeliver.”

Dean breathed  _ fuck  _ to himself, hoping it wasn’t tonal enough to be heard over the phone. He was hard now, body heat concentrating to his cock. He hurriedly unbuttoned his pants and slipped his hand into his underwear, the touch a relief, yet somehow making the hunger in his bones worse.

“How big are we talking?”

A contemplative hum escaped Cas. “How wide can you open your mouth?”

Gasping at the instant visual, Dean swerved into a cul-de-sac and put the car into park. His dick throbbed with want, unsatisfied with the half-assed attempt at satiating its need. Dean needed to come right here, right now. Unzipping his pants for better access, he took his length in hand, squeezing, sliding, twisting, until an indecently loud moan left his throat.

He pictured himself on his rug burned knees, mouth open so wide his jaw was sore, choking on a thick cock. Cas gripped onto his hair to keep him still as he fucked Dean’s face. Tears rolled down his cheek, spit trailing down the corners of his mouth, and a helpless garbling noise was the only sound he could make as he attempted to breathe.

His knees hurt, Cas pulling his hair hurt, and all he could do was kneel there and take it. And he was loving every second of it. He loved the way Cas’ fat cock impaled him, taking up every inch of space in his mouth. He loved the entire act of sucking a man off — the many available positions, how carried away the recipient got near the end, and the way they always held the back of his head when they came.

Dean’s cheeks were flushed now, but it was only a tint of pink compared to the angry red of his dick. He bit down on his bottom lip as he slid his fist up and down, the intensity of an orgasm slowly but surely building as he continued envisioning the fantasy. Using both hands now, he canted his hips in time with his fists, shaft growing increasingly sensitive with every glide.

“We discussed the fact that I like my men built well enough for me to know I’m with a man, did we not?” Cas asked.

“Y-yeah… Yeah, we did.”

“You might be able to hold me down — for a second — but how well can you take it?”

Dizzy from all the blood in his head rushing down south, Dean held down at the base of his dick to keep from coming too soon. “Take what?”

“You know what.”

“Shit,” Dean hissed, doubling over against the steering wheel at the formidable grit in Cas’ voice. They were both thinking about the same thing and it made chills crawl up Dean’s body. At once his oral fixation melted away, and he saw himself face down on the mattress, biting a pillow and screaming as Cas fucked him from behind.

How well could Dean take cock? Like Cas, he didn’t like to brag. However, it had been said that Dean was pretty fantastic in bed. He might’ve been out of practice, with all the work he’d put in at _ Felix Mori  _ with no time to date, but the fact remained that he had stellar reviews. He had fucked and been fucked by genital owners of all varieties, but to him, there was nothing quite like being penetrated by a man who knew how to use what the good Lord had given him.

He still didn’t know Cas’ size, but his imagination was going wild. Was he long and slim? Short and thick?  _ Long and thick?  _ Dean grew frustrated as he came to realize he didn’t just need something around his dick. He needed something up the ass.

“Dammit,” he gritted, beginning his slow strokes again.

“Are you touching yourself?” 

“Yeah, but Cas,” Dean whined. With the new vision of Cas’ cock stretching him wide open, his hole began to pulse with need. Every needy part of him had awoken, demanding the attention and gratification only touch could give. “I need… I need…”

On another day he might have denied it, too. But right now, with Cas filling his mind’s eye with such filth, he was shameless. He had stowed away to secretly talk to this man, and now he was pleasuring himself in a subdivision two miles away from his workplace, openly admitting that he wanted the tech support guy to fuck him in the ass.

“I need you,” he declared, his most basic carnal desires revealed at last. And it felt so damn good to say. “Cas, I need you to… to…”

“Finger yourself,” Cas ordered. It was short, but graphically direct. 

Dean wasted no time obeying. Unclipping his seatbelt, he climbed into the backseat, holding onto the phone with one hand while he shimmied out of his pants and underwear. Now, this was more risky. Eluding prying eyes was easy when in the driver’s seat with most of his clothes on, but this? He was completely naked and away from the gas pedal. It was exhilarating.

He gave his index finger a quick suck before reaching between his legs. The first touch to his hole was so needed, so welcomed, he exhaled a long groan while his eyes rolled back. He needed this so badly. It had been far too long since he had anything up his ass, and although one finger wasn’t much, it would do the trick.

“Cas,” he moaned as his finger slid further in.

It was hard to make out, but he was absolutely certain he heard Cas whisper  _ oh my god,  _ followed by the sound of a zipper coming undone. His heart fluttered as he pictured it: Cas at his desk, pulling his dick out and grasping it in both fists while muttering obscenities into his headset. The thought was intensely fulfilling, and it was all Dean needed to relax enough to push his finger the rest of the way in and wiggle around in search of his prostate.

“You with me, Cas?” he huffed a labored breath as his body took in all the sensations at once: hand around his dick, finger up his ass, and legs spread across the seats. 

“I’ve… never done this before,” Cas confessed. “Masturbated at work, I mean.”

Dean laughed. “I have.”

“I know. I heard you the first time.”

Panic washed over him. He remembered.  _ Cas heard him after all.  _ And his calm, collected customer service persona did not falter even once. This man must’ve been forged from solid steel. Truly a legend.

“Uh…?”

“I can’t say I remained quite that chaste once I arrived home,” Cas admitted. “I got off on your sounds alone.”

Dean’s ass began pulsing around his finger, a sure sign of his impending orgasm. He brushed by his prostate, gentle as could be, careful not to overstimulate himself. The hand around his dick fumbled distractedly as he allowed his mind to wander. Cas had jerked off to Dean’s voice. Cas was just as horny about their restricted situation as Dean was.

Cas wanted him, too.

“Mm,” Dean hummed, the tingle of pre-orgasm lighting up his nervous system. “That’s it, Cas.”

“Are you fingering yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Are you pretending it’s me?”

Dean smiled. “Yes.”

Cas didn’t hide his libertine groan. It rolled through his throat like a lion’s roar, yet reached Dean’s ear quiet and breathy. It sent a burst of desire straight to his dick and tickled that spot deep within him that craved release. He closed his eyes, fully taking in the sensations inside and around him, all working together to bring him to climax.

“Come with me, Dean. Let me hear you.”

“Cas… _ fuck.” _

And just like that, orgasm hit him like a freight train — all at once, but not stopping upon initial impact. He kept going, no signs of slowing down even after his cock was spent on every drop of come. Milking his prostate, he pressed, curled up, and pressed again, over and over, each pass just as powerful as the last. He couldn’t get enough of it, imagining Cas being the one to draw out such ecstasy, so he kept going.

Cas let out a breathy moan, much more vulgar than before and dripping with long-awaited gratification. Eyes closed, Dean grinned at the blessed sound, finger finally slowing as his sweet spot began feeling excessively touched. He had done this to Cas. He made him make those noises and come at his work desk. He swelled with pride at the thought.

The two of them stayed silent for a moment, basking in their post-orgasm high. Dean looked down at his come-splattered stomach before pulling out his finger, wondering for the first time in a while whether or not he had enough extra napkins in the glove compartment to clean himself up. Deciding to worry about it after he had a chance to catch his breath, he relaxed against the backseat and sighed against his phone.

“You know the only thing that could’ve made that better?”

“What’s that, Dean?” Cas asked, all raspy after breathing so hard.

“If you were here in person.”

Cas was quiet after that, but Dean wasn’t worried. This spark between them, however the hell it happened and whatever someone might call it, had shifted from interdepartmental flirting to the strangest romance the Milton companies would ever see. Dean knew Cas was simply planning his next words, not shying away from the reality of what they had just done. That ship had sailed.

“The imagination indeed can only provide so much information,” Cas said. “Some of which might not even be true at all.”

Dean sat up and carefully reached around the front seat to open the glove compartment. He didn’t need to smear come all over the car and have to clean up that too, before heading back to work. 

“Would you like to test it out?” he asked Cas. “See what your imagination got right?”

Cas let out a thoughtful puff of air through his nose. “What if you find me to be less than your imagination imagined?”

Wiping himself with three fast food napkins, Dean’s face scrunched up at the absurdity. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re a dancer at  _ Felix Mori.  _ How could you not be everything dreams are made of?”

“Alright, enough with the lovey-dovey.” Dean was starting to blush, which he couldn’t do right now, because when he blushed he got flustered, and when he got flustered he couldn’t focus on the road. Especially right after having the best mutual masturbation session ever. “These old fogies are all wearing prescription eyewear. What if you’re the dreamy son of a bitch and I’m the plain Jane?”

“I would hardly call myself dreamy.”

“I’d love to be the judge of that.”

Cas made an amused hum. Dean wondered what he looked like there at his desk, sated and glowing in the wake of orgasm. Had he put his dick back in his pants, or was he letting himself hang free for a few more minutes? Was he within earshot of that part time fellow, Benny? Did Cas have a box of tissues at his desk should the occasion for masturbation arise, or were his hands a sticky mess?

“I don’t want to stop talking to you.”

“Hell, then don’t,” Dean chuckled. 

“If someone calls for tech support, I will have to hang up with you to take their call. Staying on a call with no case number assigned will look suspicious and might result in the call being reviewed.”

“Well, we can cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“Agreed.”

Talking to Cas was the easiest thing he’d ever done, like they were already in sync and just fell into place when they found each other. It was relaxing, and exciting, and it felt right. Dean had never felt so right about anyone before. Up until a few weeks ago, he would have said soul mates were a bunch of bullshit. Cas had shaken that belief to the core. It felt like they were two sides of the same coin, or made of the same stardust, or some hoodoo crap like that.

Whatever it was, Dean liked it.

“I hope you don’t get in trouble for chatting with me on your personal phone.”

“Eh,” Dean dismissed, balling up the napkins and pulling his pants back up. “What Gabriel don’t know won’t hurt him. Long as I get back by my next assignment, he doesn’t get to say jack shit about what I do in my spare time.”

He glanced down at his watch. He still had plenty of time before his phone was due to start beeping at him, but he climbed back into the driver’s seat so he would be ready. 

“Besides,” he continued with a smirk, “you got my number from that fancy caller ID of yours.”

There were times when Dean was undoubtedly sure Cas was smiling when he spoke. This was one of those times.

“Oh, yes I suppose I did.”

“Don’t you bullshit me,” he scolded with a laugh. “You already wrote it down, didn’t you?”

Cas swallowed thickly. “Yes.”

“Knew it.”

“I wasn’t going to call you,” Cas backtracked. “Not unless you wanted me to. I would have asked you first. I’m not a barbarian.”

“Alright, Mr. Perfect Gentleman.”

“I mean it!”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Sure, Jan.”

“Did you not want me to contact you? I can delete the number.”

“You’ve already got it programmed in your phone? Oh man, that’s rich.”

“Fine. I’ll delete it now.”

“No! Wait,” Dean begged. “I’m teasing you, man. You keep that damn number and you use it.”

A relieved sigh brushed across the line. “Alright.”

The neighborhood around him kept up its consistent lack of excitement, which didn’t bother Dean in the slightest. It was a pocket of peacefulness amid the hustle and bustle of a busy town, an escape from all the noise of his complicated world. Maybe he should make a habit of visiting more often, but without jerking off next time. He wanted to fully take in the blandness of suburban life.

“Hey Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“How do you know Gabriel?”

He didn’t even know why he cared. It was just chit chat at this point, but at least it wasn’t something as nauseatingly dull as small talk. Give him a debate over Vonnegut versus Pynchton any day over a discussion about the gulf coast’s latest tropical storm. Dean figured if he had just jerked off with the guy, he should at least balance it out with a non-sexual conversation. He was classy like that.

“He’s my cousin,” Cas replied.

Dean gave his cramping neck a break and took up the phone in his hand instead, then nearly dropped it. Fumbling with the device until he was sure he hadn’t accidentally hung up, he pressed the phone to his ear and gulped.  _ Cousins?  _ Gabriel Milton and Tech Guy Cas were…  _ related? _

“Wh-what?”

“Hmm, I’m surprised he hasn’t told you.”

Blinking hard at nothing, Dean sat confounded with his jaw slack. Dirty talking his boss’ cousin wasn’t a deal breaker or anything; he was just so damn shocked by it all. Gabriel and Cas were nothing alike, and it was wild for Dean to think of anyone in their family not being “top-tier” business partners. 

Then it hit him. Claire was Gabriel’s first cousin once removed, ergo, his cousin’s child. Claire, who turned up her lip at Dean every time he dragged his ass under her swivel chair. The  _ Felix Mori  _ receptionist who sometimes surprised him with frappuccinos or tacos, or other small acts of kindness. The hard-headed chick who took no shit from anyone, but had a heart of gold.

Claire, who was at the wrong place at the wrong time when Dean blurted out wanting to know how big  _ her dad’s cock  _ was.

“Oh god,” Dean clipped. “Claire… She… I didn’t mean to… Well she screamed when I accidentally —”

“Ah yes,” Cas recollected. “I heard her in the background. She gave me quite the lecture the next time she came over to visit.”

Dean burst out laughing. It took him by surprise, and he had to catch himself to keep from nailing the steering wheel with his head by doubling over. It was less of a humorous laugh and more of a nervous  _ oh my god what have I done _ laugh, but Cas seemed unbothered.

“Geez Cas, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. She’s very capable of handling herself.”

“She is that,” Dean agreed. “Well shit, what other secrets you been hiding from me?”

The silence was short, as if Cas was thinking of something to say, when the discussion took an unwanted turn. “Someone is calling in. I apologize Dean, but I should take this.”

“Don’t worry about it. I was gonna say ‘don’t sweat the small stuff,’ but look where that got us.”

“I don’t regret it.”

“Neither do I. Talk to you later, man.”

“Enjoy your day, Dean.”

The call ended, and Dean set down his phone with a hazy exhale. He was on cloud nine. Best phone call ever. He wasn’t even one to particularly enjoy talking on the phone, especially with someone he was interested in, when he could be with them in person instead. But this was different. This fairy tale was borne of hold music and pre-recorded greetings; of routers and motherboards.

And now Cas had his real phone number. Dean nearly giggled at the thought, glancing down at his phone wistfully, halfway hoping there was already a “This is Cas :)” text notification. Alas, there wasn’t, but that wasn’t going to stop his stomach from doing backflips at the mere thought.

There would come a day when Dean would get over the fact that he worked with Cas’ own daughter. He’d casually mention saying hi to her dad for him in passing. She would deal with a difficult resident with the same collected composure her father did with irate callers. There would come a day when all these things would be just another day at the office for Dean.

But it was not this day.

Dean had so many questions. Why hadn’t Gabriel been more open about his relation to Cas? Was it some sort of dark family secret? Was Gabriel hiding something? Protecting something… or someone? It was all so mysterious and it was making Dean’s head spin. He took a cleansing breath, put the car into gear, and began his drive back to work.

His alarm went off on the way. He silenced it and tossed it back into the seat. He was not late for work and his boss wasn’t paging his wrist off while leaning his ass all over Claire’s desk. It was just another day, but not for Dean. He had questions burning in the front of his mind that would not rest. Gabriel knew the answers and Dean was going to get them.


	8. Dean buys a dong and the router breaks. (Please Note: These two events are unrelated.)

Dean caught sight of Gabriel near the end of the group dance he, Joshua, and Samandriel had planned over the past few weeks. He was the only one who noticed the boss man walk by the dance hall doors, as his fellow dancers were occupied with their routine and every eye in the audience was on them. Gabriel was heading away from the foyer, further into the wing.

Knowing his boss would likely give some pushback to his curiosity, Dean almost wigged out. Realistically, he could wait to ask Cas during their next phone call, or face-to-face if Dean could get so lucky. Yet the questions burned in his mind relentlessly, never giving him a moment’s peace.

He needed to know.

Immediately following the group dance, Dean excused himself and power-walked down the hallway until he caught up with Gabriel, who had just poked his head in the Bingo room.

“Hey,” Dean addressed, slowing down once he saw Gabriel had noticed him. Knowing the room was most likely full of devoted game players, he lowered his voice and waited for Gabriel to walk up to him. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

The opening greeting was clearly unsettling, as Gabriel narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. “What’s this about, Dean-O? Not quitting on me, are you?”

“What? No,” he guffawed. “I was just wondering, uh, when were you gonna tell me Cas is your cousin?”

Taken aback by the somehow even more jarring question, Gabriel glanced down the hallway, towards the common area. “Let’s go sit in my office.”

The idea sounded good to Dean, so he nodded and let Gabriel lead the way. Obviously this was a topic that required enough explaining to sit his ass down, and he didn’t know whether or not that was because it was going to take a while or because he was going to want to be sitting for it. Either way, Dean was all too happy to take a seat until his next dance.

Gabe moved fast for a dude with short legs and closed the door after he and Dean made it to the office. It was a tiny room just off the employee’s only hallway. Gabe spent hardly any time in here, as he preferred to be out and about with his staff and residents, even when they chased him through the building with mud pies. He wasn’t one to hide away in his office and boss people around. It was one of the things Dean respected about the guy.

“So,” Gabriel began, sitting down behind his small desk. Dean sat in the chair across from him and glanced at the petite porcelain angel statue sitting by his laptop. “You’re here because you caught wind that Castiel Krushnic and Gabriel Milton are cousins. Was it Claire?”

“No,” Dean responded right away. “I don’t wanna talk about how I know. I just do, alright? It just seems kinda weird that you’d keep that sort of thing a secret. I mean, what’s the big deal?”

Gabriel scrunched his lips in thought, tapping a pencil on the desk. He put it in a coffee mug full of writing instruments and laced his fingers. “Cas is tied to a long-standing policy here, but I never wanted him to be labeled ‘that guy who made this rule necessary.’ I don’t want anyone who interacts with him to have that ‘thing’ clouding their judgment before they even get to know him.”

“Why does it matter? He doesn’t even go here.”

Gabriel’s brow rose at that, but he quickly schooled it back down. “He’s the one I went to visit that day I didn’t come in.”

The memory of Cas’ cough-burned voice flooded his mind. Didn’t he mention a family member coming over to bring him flu supplies? Even Claire offhandedly provided that he went to see his cousin. How did Dean not see the connection?

Pushing the recollection aside, Dean came back to the topic at hand that Gabriel was trying to deter from. “Are you gonna tell me the policy you have in place because of Cas?”

His boss let out a nervous sigh. After a pause, short but laden with consideration, he remarked, “You and Cas do seem pretty tight.”

Dean didn’t know whether to feel honored or threatened by that. It was no secret that Dean took every chance he could to be the one ringing tech support, and the more he thought about it, the less coincidental it appeared that Gabriel kept letting him make the calls. That was another question he had, and one he wasn’t so sure his boss was ready to answer. At least, not today.

“I won’t tell anyone,” he promised. “You have my word.”

“I know,” Gabriel said with a small nod and even smaller smile. “You’re a good guy, Dean.”

Gabriel was stalling by this point, so Dean took it upon himself to put his thinking cap on. Rules and regulations at  _ Felix Mori  _ were straightforward, for the most part. Nobody bothered to question things because everything made so much sense. Being on time, answering pagers, honesty about which tasks the staff enjoyed… all reasonable expectations. Every policy Gabriel had in place was fairly agreeable.

Except for one.

“The phones,” Dean gasped. When Gabriel’s countenance fell grave, void of all lightheartedness it usually manifested, Dean had an  _ aha  _ moment. He sat up straighter in the chair. “When a resident goes down, you lock down all the phones so no one can call 911. Why?”

Gabriel glanced down at his desk, swallowed, then met Dean’s eyes again. “Like I told you, we’re a tight-knit family. We look out for each other.”

“Cut it with the one-big-happy-family crap. What does Cas have to do with any of this?”

Head tilted, Gabriel opened his mouth like he was prepared to answer, but closed it again. He unlaced his fingers to tap them on the desk, then exhaled sharply through his nose. “That’s a question you should ask Cas, if he’s ready.”

“What do you mean, if he’s ready? Gabe, you’re not making any sense.”

“This conversation is over, Dean.”

Anger boiled in Dean’s veins. Now the asshole gave him even more questions to answer. Gripping down on the chair arms so hard his knuckles turned white, Dean set his jaw and glared at Gabriel.

“You know what? Maybe I will ask him, since you’ve been so eager to get me on the phone with him over the past few weeks. What’s with that, anyway? A job like that usually falls to someone in greater proximity to the phone, like oh say, Claire for example — receptionist, multi-line phone pro, and his own friggin’ daughter. Why me?”

Relaxing a bit, Gabriel shifted in his seat. His face softened somewhere between the mention of Claire and Dean’s ending question. “His overall mood is like night and day since you two started talking.”

Dean stared in silence for a full four seconds before he realized Gabriel wasn’t screwing around with him with feel-good mumbo-jumbo. His own body began to relax, and he slumped against the chair with a huff of air. The claim coincided with what Dean already knew about Cas. At first the guy was impersonal at best and reclusive at worst, as opposed to the conversation they had mere hours ago.

“Castiel has… been through a lot of crap,” Gabriel explained slowly, so as to not reveal too much information. “The IT job helped some, but you’ve helped more. So… thank you.”

It was the first time Dean had ever heard Cas’ name with more than one syllable. He rolled it over in his mind again and again, getting accustomed to it, and decided that he liked it. Unique names seemed to be the top choice in this family, so he didn’t question it.

“I unplugged Claire’s computer,” his boss admitted. “It sounds dumb, I know. I just need my cousin to get better, and ever since you showed up in his life, I think that might be possible.”

“Get better from what?” Dean prodded, not giving a thought to the fact that Gabriel had set up that phone call and probably others like it. That was the least of his worries at the moment. “Gabe, I can’t help him if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“That’s another question better suited for Castiel. I can’t go around breaking his confidence in me. We’re —”

“A tight family, yeah yeah,” Dean interrupted with a dismissive wave. “Sounds like your family has seen its share of drama.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened. “You have no idea.”

“Yeah well, I don’t know whether to thank you or punch you in the face for playing matchmaker, then taking away my tech support-calling privileges.”

“Sorry man. Rules are rules. I do appreciate you getting him out of his shell, but it doesn’t excuse you from being late.”

Now that Dean had found a way around his punishment, he simply nodded and let it roll off. He glanced down at his watch. Leaving the office meant leaving so many questions unanswered, but with how damn cryptic his boss was, he wasn’t getting anywhere with him anyway. However, today was a full day.

“Speaking of which,” he said while standing up. “I’ve got private dances the rest of the afternoon. Plus tantric massages tomorrow.”

“Your massage schedule is at the front desk.” Gabriel stood to his feet as well, walking the short distance from his desk to the door. “Claire should have it printed out.”

“If she doesn’t, should I presume the printer’s broken?”

Gabriel smirked at Dean, who turned up an insouciant brow. “Don’t press your luck.”

They parted ways on good terms, albeit with Dean’s curiosity piqued even deeper than before. This was turning out to be more than just a fling between a stripper and an IT nerd. The Milton’s had secrets, and not like John Winchester and his fellow gang members had secrets. Something was behind the phone lockdown policy Dean hated, and it was either too private or too painful of a conversation to have with anyone except the one who inspired it.

Both, most likely.

Dean spent the rest of his workday checking his phone every chance he could, hoping for a call or text from an unprogrammed number. Every time he came up empty, and every time he brushed it off, convincing himself that Cas was trying to be respectful of his and Dean’s on-the-clock hours. He would surely get into contact with Dean after they were both off.

After picking up his massage schedule from Claire he sat in his car and checked on the status of his latest auction. To his delight, the Zeppelin misprint had sold. When he clicked on the sale details, he was shocked to see it went to the same buyer as the previous two sales, BeeMine69.

For the first time since his first sale, he took a closer look at the buyer’s information and found that he — or she, Dean didn’t know — lived closer than he expected. Until now he gave zero thought to where he was sending his records; he simply printed out the premade shipping label and left the professionals at the post office to sort out the gory details. 

As it turned out, the buyer lived in the next town over, where the bougie townsfolk resided. It fit the profile for someone with thousands of dollars to spare on old music they didn’t feel like fighting over with less rich bidders. Dean drove home to pick up the record and with one last tug of his heartstrings, dropped it off at the post office to begin its journey to its new owner.

This time, he included a note in the package. Chances were it sounded stupid, but this was the guy’s third purchase in a row, and Dean felt he should give a repeat customer some sort of recognition. The note was folded up neatly in an envelope, so as not to bleed ink onto the cover, and read:

_ BeeMine69, _

_ Thank you for your recent purchases. Over the past few weeks, you have bought three of my albums at full price. Maybe you didn’t notice that all three were mine or maybe you don’t care, but it’s helped me out a lot.  _

_ These albums used to belong to my dad. He enjoyed them and I gotta say, you’ve got great taste, but they’re better off with you than me. I know you’re giving them a good home. Once again, your support is appreciated. _

_ Impala67 _

Short, to the point, and sparing all the mushy stuff. Maybe the buyer would appreciate the thanks, or maybe he’d gawk and throw the note in the trash. Dean didn’t particularly care. He just wanted to let the guy know that he was appreciative.

After arriving back home with one less record at his apartment, Dean looted through his freezer until he found an old box of waffles. They smelled alright so he popped two in the toaster and poured himself a glass of orange juice. Breakfast for dinner. The perfect ending to a perfect day.

After scarfing down his waffles, he decided to do something he hadn’t done in a long time. Logging his next-day shipping site of choice, Dean did a search for something very specific, scrolled down, compared a few listings, and made his choice. He completed his order and set his phone down on the table, then smiled to himself. Having his finger up his ass that day reminded him of how much he missed being stretched open, and while he couldn’t have the man of choice in his bed, he’d take the next best thing for the time being.

His dildo was on its way.

——

Dean had fallen asleep with his phone unplugged and in the palm of his hand, waiting for Cas to make his move. In the morning he woke up to a phone half dead and drool on his pillow, and still no text. He tried not to overthink it, but worry scratched away at the abundance of hope he had felt just a few hours of sleep beforehand.

What the hell was taking Cas so long? Did he forget about Dean? Did he lose the number he had written down from the caller ID? No, he had programmed it directly into his phone, Dean had figured that much out. Was he regretful of getting nasty with Dean? Did he get in trouble at work?

It was too many questions to add to the mountain of existing ones, so he tried not to let his mind assume the worst. He had tantric massages to dish out, which meant he needed to be fully present. Nobody liked a distracted therapist. So he buckled down, pushed his worries aside, and got to work.

By the end of the day, he was a frazzled mess. He didn’t just need Cas to call him for peace of mind; he had questions that needed answers. He needed to know what part of Cas’ past could be so horrible that it affected every resident at  _ Felix Mori.  _ Why get the old folks involved in any of their family drama? What did calling 911 ever do to Cas?

The uncertainties swam around in his head with no signs of stopping, which was why Dean looked forward to getting home. After work he stopped by the store to get groceries, including a few luxuries such as beer, bacon, and a candy bar. Once he rolled in he was pleased to see a discreet box sitting by his apartment door. He hauled in all his groceries in one go and swooped up the delivery with his spare hand. It was party time.

He tore into the box as soon as he finished putting groceries away. Laying on his stomach across the mattress, he threw the cardboard box over his shoulder to inspect the item inside. It was a hefty thing, complete with the natural curve Dean loved and a suction cup end to use against multiple surfaces. He wasn’t sure how big Cas was, so he chose something fairly large as a challenge for himself.

It was impressive by looks alone, but as they say, it’s what’s on the inside that counts. Dean fetched the bottle of lube from his nightstand and scrounged around on the bed for the fallen cleaning instructions. It was a more lifelike material than silicone, which required extra care, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. Besides, this wasn’t his first rodeo; he was just out of practice.

After sticking the dildo experimentally to the wall and floor of his bedroom, he had the brilliant idea of taking it into the shower. His lube was silicone-based and he needed to wash off anyway, so why not? After setting it at a comfortable height and settling in, Dean turned the water up as hot as he could handle and used the opportunity of washing his body to start sensually touching himself.

He closed his eyes as he stood under the spray, suds rinsing off and steam creating his own personal cloud. Letting his cares melt away felt amazing, especially after such a long twenty-four hours of waiting for a text message that didn’t come. In the back of his mind he wanted to keep worrying, but that seemed pretty dumb right now. Why stress over it when he could relax and enjoy himself?

Besides, it wasn’t uncommon to wait a couple of days before using the number a love interest might give out. He had done it a few times himself, which was his principal reason to chill out about it. In the dating world one didn’t want to appear desperate, and giving that call a few days drew out the angst a little. It made him seem just a tad hard to get, and it made the eventual phone call that much sweeter.

So no, he wasn’t going to let it bother him tonight. He would give it another day or so before jumping to conclusions. Right now he had a need to fill, namely his ass. It might not be his ideal man, but at least he had a voice and his imagination to accompany him. It was enough — for now — especially after the tease of his finger and the general awkwardness of jerking off in front of some poor bastard’s rancher.

He ran his fingers over his chest, pausing to play with his nipples on the way down. He gently tugged and twisted the small buds until they stood taut against his flesh, and let out a short groan as he made a silent wish that next time, it would be Cas. Feeling himself like this under the steady heat of the shower head gave him all the inspiration he needed to begin rubbing a fast one out, but he held back.

Trailing a hand down his body, he used his free one to card his fingers through his hair. It felt nice to push his hair back, heavy with water and scalp completely relaxed from rubbing shampoo into it. He had just bought it today; it smelled like cedar and sandalwood, which for some reason spoke to Dean in the personal care aisle. In the back of his mind he hoped that was what Cas smelled like fresh out of the shower, although assuming someone’s taste in shampoo based on their voice and profession in IT was reminding him of the crush he had on Harrison Ford when he was twelve — who, for the record, smelled like pine, according to Dean’s adolescent imagination. It was typical fan behavior and Dean didn’t even care. Who was going to stop him from being a complete nerd for Cas?

He gripped the longest hairs on the top of his head and gave them a slight pull. The tiny twinge of pain sent carnal hunger surging through his veins, and he didn’t hide the grunt it elicited. It reverberated in the small space of his shower, closed off to the world and giving him the freedom to just kick back and enjoy his own body. He let go and dipped his head back, allowing the spray to beat down on his head and trickle onto his face.

His eyes squinted shut, so he wiped them and blinked away the excess water before glancing down at his erection. It called to him for touch — just a tiny stroke before beginning playtime with his new toy — nevertheless, he denied himself. It was so red and aching and beginning that quiet throb typical of blood flow all concentrating on that one place, but he neglected it, instead reaching for the bottle of lube on the ledge.

He slicked up his fingers, having decided before now to work himself over with a finger or two before attempting the dildo. Going all-out after so long without any action happening back there was more than a little intimidating, especially with a piece of this size. He bent over and circled his rim a few times with the pad of his index finger before sliding it in. Lube made it so much easier than the other day in the car.

The middle finger joined soon after, proving to be a slightly bigger feat. Dean grunted as he pressed past the tight wall, rotating both fingers side by side. Slowly working himself open, he made shallow pumps until he could relax, taking his time with slow breaths in the thick steam. He twisted his fingers, widening his hole while deliberately avoiding making it feel  _ too  _ good before he even had a chance to fuck himself properly.

He took his fingers out, ass fluttering around nothing, and squirted a heavy helping of lube onto the dildo. It wobbled as he slicked it up, and the lifelike feel and look made it easier to imagine Cas in its place, restlessly waiting for Dean to sink down on his cock. The size was equally daunting as it was thrilling, and Dean’s heart skipped a beat thinking about the stretch soon to come. 

Facing away from it, he backed up until he could feel the blunt head, then guided it to his hole. He spread his ass cheeks apart with one hand and held the tip steady with the other as he arched back. At the first feel of thickness penetrating him, a groan rumbled from deep in his throat, as if it had been locked up and waiting for this moment. He had been needing this for a long time.

Once he was past the tightest part it got easier. He blew all the air out of his lungs as he sank lower onto the wide shaft, closing his eyes to more intimately feel the way it filled him, stretched him, claimed him. The water was so warm he could almost envision the trickling streams as Cas’ hands wandering over his body, claiming him in the most complete way. He descended into a mesmeric head space of wanting Cas to take ownership of him from the inside out, to possess his body and use it for his pleasure. Maybe it was messed up to want that of someone he hadn’t even met in person, but caring wasn’t on Dean’s to-do list at the moment.

Dean pressed his ass against the base of the dildo, balls against his cheeks, and laid a hand against the opposite wall for support so he could take a moment and breathe. He couldn’t remember feeling so full, ever. He had done it — it was in and it felt amazing, and now he was going to rearrange his insides with it, and enjoy every second of it.

Pulling his hips forward, he moaned through the long drag, loving how the tip felt catching just inside his rim. He slid back on it and gasped. This wasn’t going to take long. Arching his back more, he impaled himself on the toy in a steady rhythm. He needed to pace himself, but once he got a taste of how it felt to have his prostate skimmed by this massive thing on every stroke, he could deny himself no longer.

He could see it now: Cas digging his fingers into Dean’s hips, holding him steady as they both whispered and swore under the steady stream. Cas could have him just like this — bent over and moaning with need — while reaching over Dean’s back and tugging at his hair. That name slipped across Dean’s lips as he shut his eyes, breathing hard and heavy through his open mouth.

_ You’re taking it so well,  _ he wanted to hear Cas say.  _ I told you I wasn’t small, didn’t I? But you begged for it anyway. Look at you, absolutely wrecked around my cock. _

Dean hummed, not ashamed in the least bit that he could so clearly hear Cas’ dirty talk in his head. “Cas,” he breathed, quickening his movements against the steadfastly suctioning toy. “Harder, Cas.”

_ You want me to fill you with my come, Dean? Own this beautiful ass from the inside out? Fuck you until it’s dripping out of your hole? _

“Please,” he begged, reaching for his own overlooked length. He was throbbing with want, tip so dark it was turning purple. As soon as he touched himself, however, any sense of relief blew away as another fantastical word from Cas crossed his lust-drunk imagination.

_ Wait,  _ he wanted Cas to say, which probably made Dean a masochist. Who in their right mind would deny themselves of self-service in favor of a make-believe bossy boyfriend? Psychos like him, apparently.

One thing was for sure, he was getting off on it. He fucked himself against the toy faster, breath quickening as he neared his climax. His hole retightened around the shaft with every thrust and his prostate begged for more on every brush past it. Through it all, the water beat down on him, a little less hot than it had been, but warm enough.

_ You touch yourself when I say so,  _ the voice said. Dean nodded, grunting with every exhale as he chased his end. He was bouncing furiously on the dildo now, short and shallow, every ebb inching him closer, closer. His heart pumped blood wildly enough for him to hear it in his head, in time with his shameless bobbing back and forth.

Like some kind of pervert he wished he could see himself. He must have looked so gone, impaling himself like the desperate piece of meat he was. This was raw, no-filter Dean exploring his body with no strings attached and no second parties to please. It felt damn good to get off without worrying about how his face looked when he was getting fucked, or stressing over performance and who-comes-first and all the ostentatious sex etiquette. 

Somewhere between the point of no return and the moment he came, Dean allowed himself to finally give in, courtesy of Fantasy Cas.  _ Now,  _ the voice rang in his ear, and with a relieved huff he grabbed onto his aching dick. With the tight squeeze and no time to spare, ropes of come shot out of him, painting the shower tiles and oozing onto his fingers as the pressure build-up lessened. He stroked himself with a heavy moan, eyes rolling back at the sensation of  _ finally  _ having something around his cock.

Around the back, his ass pulsed around the thick shaft embedded deep inside him. For a good ten seconds he couldn’t move; he simply held onto himself while bent over at the waist. With come-splattered hands he supported his weight against the shower walls, water growing tepid at last. He just leaned there and breathed. His knees were growing weak in the after-effects of orgasming while standing up, and it just added to his look of utter debauchery. 

With an impoverished whine he stepped forward, drawing the dildo out. It bounced in the air again after slipping out, and he could feel just how open his hole was now that it was empty. He took another moment to rest his head against an arm on the wall, then turned towards the shower head to rinse off all the come and lube.

He was a perfect picture of self-seeking abandonment. He grinned to himself, basking in the afterglow of a partner-free orgasm, even if he would have rather shared it with The Real Cas. It was only after he turned the cold water off that he remembered how much he missed being fucked. It had been too long, but on the bright side, he got something needed out of his system. On the even brighter side, now he could await Cas’ call or text without his mind immediately diving into the gutter.

The things people said about cleaning out the pipes before a date were true.

Dean finished his perfect night by washing off his dildo, throwing on some boxers, and enjoying the spoils of his grocery trip. It was too late to make anything complicated, so he opted for microwave mac and cheese, a couple of beers, and his candy bar for dessert. It was a night of decadence in his book, and he went to bed feeling like a king. 

He checked his phone one more time before dozing off with a box of crackers on the nightstand. No text or missed calls, from Cas or anyone else for that matter. That was okay. Dean had put in his time worrying over it. In fact, the more time that passed, the more at peace he was. Cas would contact him when he was ready. At the very least, they’d talk again after these seven days of discipline were over, the next time something technological bit the dust.

It felt good knowing Cas would be there when he called next. What Gabriel said in his office felt good, too… at least, the part about Dean being a good influence on Cas. He was pretty sure that was the first time anyone had ever called him a good influence. The whole thing was strange and wonderful, and the only thing Dean would change were the cold sheets on the other side of the bed. He had just the idea for who he’d like warming those up.

——

The probation period was over. It was time for something to break. Anything. The landline, a hard drive, the sound system… _ anything.  _ Dean wasn’t picky. 

But nothing was happening. Damn technicians and their skills. The days following his lifted tech ban were the longest of his life, dragging on like time itself enjoyed torturing him. It made him twitchy. Man-made shit wasn’t supposed to go this long without malfunctioning. It was unnatural.

Claire rolled the luggage trolley out from behind the desk to assist a new resident moving in. In her absence, Dean plopped his sequin-covered butt on the chair and opened up the web browser. It was getting to be time for his next waxing appointment and he wanted to be sure he got Charlie again.

An error message popped up when he attempted to load the page. Dean took in a heavy inhale, eyes bugging out in sheer glee. He hit enter again, just to say he double-checked, and once again the page refused to load. His heart thumped in his chest. The staticky remembrance of Cas’ voice played out in his head. He fidgeted in his seat. He could do it. He could really do it.

Sure, he could have called before now, on his cell phone like last time. But he didn’t want to wear that out, since Cas had physically punched in his phone number as a result. He didn’t want to come across as a thirsty hoe. He gave Cas his number, and now the ball was in Cas’ court. Any other contact from then on must be necessitated by broken shit.

And broken it was. Dean could hardly contain himself, rolling towards the desk phone with almost extolling reverence. It sat there like a bump on a log but to Dean, it looked like solid gold. It had been waiting here for him the whole time. He smiled and nodded, wanting to gently kiss it and cradle it in his arms before dialing. Then he thought about how stupid that sounded, and grunted to himself as he straightened his back.

He picked it up off the receiver, dialed the number, and waited. The pre-recorded voice came on and he pressed 2. This was it. He was seconds away from hearing Cas again. 

His head began to swim. What would he say? It had been such a long time. Last time they talked, Dean was doing so in secret, and both of their hands were down their pants. He could hardly focus on how to begin their conversation. Should he bring it up? The potential for someone to enter earshot at any point in the call was high, as  _ Felix Mori  _ was unusually busy today. Maybe he should just act professionally.

“Tech support, this is Benny.”

“B-Benny?” Dean stammered. His whole train of thought derailed. There were no survivors. Every single word he ever learned left his brain in one fell swoop.

“That’s me,” the sunny Cajun accent affirmed. “What seems to be the problem, chief?”

Dean’s lip quivered, still not ready to deal with the fact that _ this was not Cas.  _ “Benny?”

“Yes, sir! Who might this be?”

“Uh,” he gulped. “D-Dean.”

“Oh, hello Dean,” he said brightly, and it sounded like he remembered him from last time, which was impressive, since it felt like so long ago. “I s’pose you’d prefer to talk to Cas?”

“What are you doing?” a feminine voice asked over his shoulder. Dean turned in the swivel chair to see Claire glaring at him with wide eyes.

Dean pointed behind him with his thumb. “Pages aren’t loading. Calling tech.”

“I know they aren’t loading, you dork,” she upbraided. “Something’s wrong with the router.”

Dean tilted the phone closer to his chin. “Something’s wrong with the router.”

“They already know!”   
  


“We already know, brother,” Benny said smoothly, with much more calmness than Claire.

“What do you mean, they already know?” Dean snapped at Claire, face scrunching in disbelief. “How?”

“Because I already called tech, dumbass.”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat. The phone slacked in his hand as he momentarily zoned out, all time and space vacuuming in on him like a black hole. The sounds around him turned to ringing in his ears. He sat facing Claire with his jaw hanging loose, his face a blank stare of shock and betrayal. 

_ How?  _ How could she do this? This was supposed to be  _ his  _ job. And surely she knew he was allowed back on the phone again. How could someone be so cold, so cruel? How could someone take this from him?

“You called your dad?” he decided to jab back.

She smashed her lips together and let a huff out her nose. “Yeah Einstein, I called my dad.”

It was the first time he had confronted her about her connection to Cas. He truly did plan on approaching her more delicately about it, but then again, he was also planning on being the one to call tech support, so there was that. At the moment it seemed like a fair helping of justice.

“Go easy on her, Dean,” Benny advised. “I think she just wanted you to be surprised.”

“Surprised?” Getting back in touch enough with his surroundings to swivel around on the chair, Dean turned from the phone receiver back to Claire. “Surprise me with what?”

“The router — it’s not something you can fix just blabbering on the phone with tech,” Claire explained at far less mentally taxing decibel. “One of them has to fix it themselves.”

Dean stood to his feet, the sequins on his booty shorts swaying with the quick movement. “What are you saying?”

Claire searched his face, but then looked behind him, just beyond the edge of the front desk. She looked back at Dean, eyes glimmering with something he couldn’t quite place. And then she smiled.

Pivoting on his heel, Dean faced the front desk, phone slack in his hand. He could faintly hear Benny laughing, “We had to send somebody down there to fix it and save y’all’s hides,” but he stopped listening as soon as he met a pair of unfairly blue eyes. 

His breath hitched again, but it was for another reason. These eyes weren’t just blue. They were deep as the sea, piercing as a blade — calling out to him like a siren’s song. This man wasn’t just looking at him; he could see into Dean’s very soul with those eyes. They were grounding, eternal, cosmic. They exuded an ethereal aura of peace and belonging, and sue him if he could get lost in them and never come back.

His hair was so dark brown it was nearly black, and otherwise neat if not for a few defiant spikes that looked mostly accidental. His skin was light but not pale, and he carried a bulging over-the-shoulder bag with what Dean could only assume was router-fixing equipment. He wore a branded polo and slacks, but  it was what was hinted underneath that made Dean weak in the knees. This guy was  _ shredded.  _ It was kind of unfair, the way his clothes covered him and an office job hid him from sight.

When his mouth opened to speak, his lips were slightly chapped and positively kissable. But the thing that halted Dean’s whole world was  _ the voice.  _ It was all too familiar — raspy and creamy — yet crisp and unaltered by static and miles of traveling between phone towers. It wasn’t spoken in one of his ears; it was right in front of him, with a face to match at last.

“Hello, Dean.”


	9. Nerdy little tech guy

The phone slipped from Dean’s hand. He didn’t notice it of course, as his attention was drawn elsewhere at the moment. Claire huffed humorously out of her nose and picked the phone up, returning it to the receiver and excusing herself to scamper off somewhere else. Her work here was done.

After keeping his eyes open as long as possible, not wanting to obstruct his view of this  _ perfection  _ for even a fraction of a second, he blinked. It was him.  _ It was really him.  _ It was his voice, coming out of his mouth, attached to that face, attached to that burly neck, attached to that… oh, daddy yes.

“Cas,” Dean said as his entire brain rebooted. He could think of words again. He could see and hear other things besides the person directly in front of him. He was cognizant of his surroundings. He was behind the front desk, meeting Cas for the first time, who was in company uniform, while Dean was… also technically in uniform, however vastly more naked.

Cas’ eyes dropped down for just a moment, as low as they could with the desk obstructing the good stuff, and snapped back to Dean’s eyes. Watching Cas’ wandering eyes first thing after meeting was cute, and Dean bit his bottom lip in amusement. The minimal motion obviously affected Cas, who cleared his throat and looked to the side, blushing. 

This guy wasn’t just as hot as they came. He was friggin’  _ adorable. _

“Hi,” he greeted Dean for the second time, which made him even more endearing. Was this guy… nervous?

“Hi,” Dean replied with a smile.

“I’m sorry.”

Dean furrowed his brows, slanting back slightly at the sudden apology. “For what?”

“For not texting you back,” Cas explained, raising his head from the timid stance. “I was planning on it, I swear. I’m still planning on it, I just…”

Dean held up a pacifying hand. “Hey, you don’t have to do that.”

“The night you called,” he went on, “I was going to text you as soon as I got home. Then my anxiety got the best of me, and I kept putting it off. I kept second guessing myself, until… well, here I am.” He shrugged.

Cas was a great many things, but predictable was certainly not one of them. Dean nodded, not really understanding why on earth a man as appealing as him would struggle with anxiety — had the guy seen himself? — until he remembered what Gabe told him in his office. Apparently, there was far more to Cas than what met the eye. 

“I got you in person instead,” Dean said, a smirk sneaking across his cheek. “I’ll take that over a text any day.”

Cas smiled, huffing a tonal breath adjacent to a one-syllabled laugh, and Dean just watched him. He never wanted to look away. He needed to just stand here and match all of Cas’ little sounds with the physical movements he went without seeing for so long. He wanted to witness every curve of his lips, the sway of his hips as he shifted his footing, and the way his adam’s apple bobbed along his throat when he swallowed.

So far Dean loved every bit of it — all five minute’s worth. The crowning jewel so far was his smile, with the way his cheeks puffed up and made the area around his eyes crease. Dean could stare at that smile for hours. Just seeing Cas smile made him want to smile, it was that damn contagious.

“I actually am here to fix the router,” he said, adjusting his bag strap over his shoulder. “But it’s pretty monotonous work, and I could use some company.”

The whole sentence sounded more like a question than a statement, like he was asking Dean permission to invite him for a face-to-face chat. Cas sounded a lot like he did when they first started talking, which would have unsettled Dean more if he didn’t already know Cas was a usually confident man who had been through some serious shit. He was out of his element, away from his desk and a screen full of troubleshooting prompts, instead interacting with  _ people  _ out in the  _ open,  _ and Dean could certainly empathize. He wouldn’t know how he would have reacted if he were asked to do his work in a completely unfamiliar setting.

“I’m in,” Dean said, slapping the counter with his palms.

Cas walked around the desk, eyeing the employees-only hallway. “If I remember correctly, the router is down this way. At least, it was back when I installed it.”

“That was before my time here, so beats me.”

As if on queue, Gabriel strode through the employee door and lit up when he saw his cousin. He all-out grinned when he caught sight of Dean as well, coming out from behind the desk and both headed in his direction. 

“Cassie!” Gabriel exclaimed, smacking him in the arm. “Glad you could make it. Router’s right where you left it.”

After a short nod, Cas entered the hallway, but Dean hesitated by Gabriel. His boss had  _ a look,  _ like he knew the exact precise location of a particularly fascinating geocache. Dean crossed his arms and glared.

“When were you gonna tell me he’s freaking jacked?”

“What?” Gabriel shrugged casually. “Nerdy little Cas? Pssh.”

“Nerdy? Little?” Dean glanced Gabriel over. “He could bench press three of you.”

“Is that right? Huh.”

Dean’s brows creased at the way Gabriel looked behind him, like he was trying to remember Castiel’s exact build. It didn’t make much sense how  _ anyone  _ could miss  _ that  _ gun show, unless Gabriel’s ‘little cuz’ was a lot scrawnier growing up. After growing up close, it would’ve been easy to always envision him that way, the same way Dean would always see his baby brother as someone to protect. He supposed that made sense.

“Anyway, I’m gonna go tap that.”

“Not on the clock,” Gabriel nagged, but Dean was already swinging the door closed behind him.

He caught up to Cas, who had made his way past the office and lockers, and was on a step ladder inspecting the router box sitting on a custom-cut shelf. His lip turned up in a subconscious smile when he turned to see Dean. The view was good for Dean as well; the different vantage point offered Cas’ arms in his direct line of sight, and if he dropped his eyes a little lower, his ass.

This guy was all sorts of yummy.

“Need anything?” Dean asked, looking at the bag Cas left by the step ladder.

Cas looked from Dean to his bag, to Dean again, then back up to his task at hand. “I should have everything I need up here.”

“What was that look for?”

“What look?”

“Y’know,” Dean teased, “the ‘oh, he means computer equipment needs, not basic human needs’ look.”

Cas chuckled, but didn’t look away from the router. “You got that from a look, huh?”

“I mean, I’ve been hoping this day would happen ever since the first time I got stuck dialing tech support. You expect me to not analyze your face once I finally get to see it?”

Cas fiddled with something on the shelf. Dean couldn’t tell what it was since it was too far up, but it sounded like Cas was just fidgeting nervously instead of using it to fix the router. “That sounds frighteningly scrutinizing.”

“I wouldn’t be too worried. I like what I see.”

Cas paused from shuffling his hands around and looked down, raking his eyes all over Dean’s body. Dean felt the gaze, and chills broke out on his arms and back. He suddenly felt cold and exposed, nipples hardening under the blow of air conditioning. He could feel a tint of pink rise into his cheeks as he stood there in nothing but very short sequin shorts.

“So do I,” Cas replied. His few words were thick with intent, and they made Dean shudder. 

He looked down at himself, concerned with his appearance for the first time since he left his apartment that day. He was the same Dean as always — toned muscle, not overly hairy, and tall enough to loom, but not in an intimidating way. He had always known he was moderately good looking, but it hit differently coming from Cas. By the time Dean looked back up, Cas was facing away again, laboring away on the stubborn router box.

“Claire go over and visit her old man much?”

“Yes she does,” Cas responded fondly. “Her brother and I enjoy our visits.”

Dean nearly choked on his own spit. “Brother?”

“Yes, she hasn’t mentioned him? His name is Jack.”

“She doesn’t mention anything,” Dean realized out loud. “I guess she just… leaves home at home.”

“Hmm,” Cas hummed. It was neat hearing it in person. “Come to think of it, she leaves work at work as well, so I must say I’m not surprised.”

“Tell me about Jack.” It was widely known that parents loved talking about their children. Dean figured it would be presumptuous to dive right into a conversation similar to their last one over the phone. Besides, Dean actually gave a crap about Castiel’s life, and his kids were a part of that.

“Jack is my youngest. Turns eighteen this year. His mother died during childbirth.”

Dean’s heart sank. “Geez man, I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Cas huffed. “Thank you, but I never met her in person. He’s adopted. Claire’s mother and I were married for a time. We grew apart. No ill feelings between us.”

“Well, that takes care of the awkward conversation about our exes.”

Castiel snorted. “No exes for you, I presume?”

“Nah, nothing that serious. No kids either. I dunno man, I always just figured…” Dean trailed off, not sure where the sentence would take him. Ever since their father started dumping him and Sam for the crime life, he doubted his ability to be a father. The paternal instinct was there, and so was the overall tolerance of kids, but whenever he pictured himself with a little him running around, he panicked. He figured he’d suck as a parent. “I was always afraid I’d turn into my dad.”

“Are you two alike?”

“God I hope not.” 

Dean hated thinking about John Winchester. He hated the prospect of inheriting  _ any  _ of his tendencies even more. John was not a good man, and all Dean ever wanted was to be good. He would’ve liked to think they were polar opposites, but some of John’s ways of thinking lived in Dean far longer than they should have. It took a long time to break free from them all, so remembering them was not pleasant.

All the toxic masculinity was a big fat part of it. Boys don’t cry, be a man, don’t wear pink… yada, yada, yada. Dean countered it by sporting fuschia g-strings while dancing on a pole, and being obnoxiously open about his sexuality. Spite might not have been his weapon of choice, but it was all he had. 

As fate would have it, John only knew about Dean’s counter-measures for a handful of days before he got himself shot. It wasn’t nearly enough time to get him as riled up as he wanted, but it would have to do. He took what he could get. It was still satisfying as hell to know the man that instilled such dumbass bullshittery into him watched him jump off the deep end. John was horrified and disappointed by the man Dean had become, to his delight.

Downright neglectful was the other thing. Who ditches their kids for weeks at a time to go do gangsta shit? Dean wasn’t even old enough to sit in the front seat the first time he was left in charge of Sammy for a thirteen-day streak. Christmas? Birthdays? Not in this bitch. Sam and Dean were lucky to have enough potato chips and Little Debbies to last until halfway through John’s trips.

So after all of that, if there was a hint of John Winchester still floating around in Dean’s psyche, God help him. He didn’t have the energy to stress over being a better parent than his father was. He had already put in his time raising Sam. If anyone wanted to vilify him for using that as an excuse to not want kids, then they could eat his entire ass.

“Do you have family in town?”

Now there was a loaded conversation. Dean swallowed thickly. “One brother.”

“Oh? What’s his name?”

“Sam Winchester.”

Cas halted from his work, dragging his gaze downward to Dean once again. This time his face was void of all flirtation, full instead of stark realization. “Sam Winchester who works nights in IT?”

“The same.”

“Dean, why didn’t you tell me?”

Dean leaned to and fro, visibly uncomfortable. “We haven’t spoken since our dad died.”

This was the first time he had said this kind of shit out loud. Dean didn’t discuss his family…  _ with anyone.  _ It was uncharted territory, and he wasn’t sure what was too little information or too much. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to tell Cas, because he  _ never  _ actually wanted to tell anybody. But at this moment, he needed to tell Cas.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Cas stepped down and folded up the step ladder, leaning it against the wall. 

Dean waved a dismissive hand. “It’s alright. I still don’t know what a phone lock down policy has to do with you.”

Cas stepped up to him, bag over his shoulder. He was nearly Dean’s height, perhaps a hair shorter. He could feel Cas’ heat from where he stood, see the flecks of brown and black in his relentlessly blue eyes, but he felt no discomfort at the proximity. Actually, he wished Cas would come closer so he could excuse leaning down and kissing him.

“It sounds like we’ve both got some secrets.” The deep rumble of Cas’ voice was barely audible above his breathy words, and it made Dean want to sway in even closer. He felt it all the way down to his bones, resonating through every cell and permeating every ounce of his will to be classy and decent.

“You should at least ask me to dinner if you’re gonna keep asking me all this personal shit,” Dean suggested, eyes flickering between Cas’ eyes and lips.

Cas’ pupils enlarged under Dean’s faltering gaze. He almost got sucked in too, catching himself before tilting his head down enough to catch those faintly chapped lips. His shorts were starting to feel a tad too tight. Cas was like a magnet, drawing him closer, challenging every piece of dating etiquette he ever believed in.

Truth was, Dean felt like they were past the pretentious first date crap. They had already masturbated together; what was the point in trying to impress each other with chocolates and fine dining? It was taking a step backwards, as far as his dick was telling him.

But still, his higher brain told him to go with it. He and Cas had never even seen each other’s faces prior to today. Even though they had tickled each other’s metaphorical fancies from a distance, they knew hardly anything about each other. Dean didn’t know Cas’ favorite ice cream flavor, what he was like in a traffic jam during rush hour, or his favorite swear word. 

Dean took a deep breath. This was fine. This was totally fine.

“This is the second time you’ve asked me to invite you on a date,” Cas observed with a sly smile.

Dean snorted a laugh, and he did not miss the way Cas’ eyes dropped to his mouth for a second. “You remember that?”

“Mm hmm,” he purred. “There’s a place not far from my house that’s nice.” Dean gave a simple nod in return. “Good. We can go this Friday. I’ll text you the address.”

Cas slipped his hand under Dean’s cheek and held him still as he planted an electrifying kiss right above his jaw. He began walking down the hall before Dean could fully comprehend what he was doing, but by the time he looked around to see Cas strolling towards the door, his brain caught up. Cas kissed him.  _ On the cheek.  _ The bastard.

Catching up to him in a few wide paces, Dean blocked his way and began taking strides just as big into his personal space. Taken by surprise, Cas backed away, which Dean took advantage of by backing him into the closest wall. Cas let out an “oof” as his back hit the wall, cornered in by Dean’s slightly taller frame.

Dean cocked his head, attempting to decipher the look Cas was giving him right now. The surprise had worn off Cas’ face, replaced by an unshrinking smug expression. He didn’t know what it meant, but if he had to guess, he either saw it coming or hadn’t but didn’t mind where they had just ended up.

“I’d like a real kiss, Mr. Krushnic,” Dean requested. 

And just like that, it was like a lightswitch flicked on. Cas dropped his bag and grabbed Dean’s face, smashing it into his. Dean’s surprised noise at the sudden contact was muffled by Cas’ mouth on his, but he melted into it as soon as he felt nimble fingers lacing around his neck and through his hair.

Cas’ lips were far softer than they looked, not to mention the dark scruff around his lips abrading against Dean’s face. He leaned closer, pressing their chests together, and held Cas’ head in his hands, thumbs scraping across the permanent five o’clock shadow on his cheeks. Touching Cas like this — touching Cas at all — was doing unholy things to him, and he began to wonder if getting off last night did any good after all, because his dick was telling him differently.

His chest was solid as a rock, even under that fugly company polo. Dean dropped his hands to Cas’ waist to find a pleasingly solid middle, not thin-waisted in the slightest, but noticeably void of pudge. This guy was pure muscle. What kind of exercise equipment did they keep at that tech center?

Dean tried to keep his hips back. He really did try so hard. They didn’t need to be grinding and pulling and thrusting, not on day one. He wanted it so badly, but he didn’t think he could survive until Friday with the memory of clothing-obstructed bumps and curves of their groins. He had found out more than enough about Cas’ form for one day.

Cas must’ve had other plans.

Sliding his hand down Dean’s side and leaving a trail of prickles as he went, Cas snaked around until he had a handful of ass. Everything was fine and dandy, and then Cas _ squeezed.  _ Dean jumped forward, smashing their bodies flush from shoulder to thigh, and then the cheeky fucker rolled his hips. 

Dean gasped in the middle of a wet kiss as the shock of their side-by-side lengths filled in some very important gaps in his mind. He found himself grinding against Cas in return as their hungry mouths became less coordinated. Curling his fingers around Cas’ side a little tighter for purchase, he rocked up, each move further proving what he suspected all along.

  
_ Cas was huge. _

He hated to sound like a bad romance novel about it. Clichés weren’t his style. He had a sneaking suspicion Cas was tired of hearing it, too. So he determined not to say it. This wasn’t the time anyway. They had already gone way too far, but nothing could be done about that. The urge to rip all these guy’s clothes off was all too real. To think all Dean had to go on was his voice at first. Cas was so much better than he had imagined.

So intense was their attention on each other’s faces and bodies, they hardly noticed when the employee door swung open. It was a faint noise amid their heavy breaths and indecorous hums of desire, far away and unimportant in the pocket universe they had created in which they were the only inhabitants. It wasn’t until Gabriel started yelling that they gave any thought to his presence.

“I said, not while on the clock!”   
  


Dean ended the makeout session and huffed out an indignant sigh, tilting his head back with his eyes shut to collect enough self control to refrain from throwing Gabriel across the hall. When he felt Cas’ hands wander from his ass back up to his naked chest, he opened his eyes and glared at his boss, who was leaning arms crossed against the doorframe.

“I’ve got time, what do you care?” Dean grumbled. “It’s not like I missed my next dance, or that we’re borrowing your office for our convenience.”

“Mm,” Cas droned, fingers skirting over Dean’s nipples. “He does have a desk in there, doesn’t he?”

Gabriel gagged. “I did not come here to think about cousin sex. Oh, by the way… don’t you friggin’ dare.”

As unpleasant as the job was, it fell to Dean to be the one to separate their bodies. Cas’ hands lingered as long as possible, falling down his stomach as Dean backed away. He didn’t have to look down to know they were both rock hard, but he glanced down anyway. Cas looked just as big as he felt, and knowing their meeting would soon end gnawed at Dean, a yearning that sucked and would only get worse from now until Friday.

“How’s the wifi?” Castiel addressed his cousin.

“Up and running. Thank you for your service.”

Dean looked down at his skin, the warmth of Cas’ touch fresh and very much alive. Several sequins had fallen off of his shorts, littering the space between them. All fallen heroes in the cause of grinding their dicks as close together as possible. He would wear the battle-scarred bottoms with pride during his next dance.

“Unfortunately,” Cas sighed, his tone carrying over from how he addressed Gabe, but while facing Dean, “I have to be at the tech center in time for Benny’s lunch break. We’re the only two there until night shift comes in.”

Dean scanned his face and found remorse, thinly veiled by Cas’ emotionless words and white-collar demeanor. The contradiction between his expression and his tone stunned him. So this was what his face looked like when he would switch from warm and expressive to cold and detached. The guy was the living, breathing manifestation of ambivalence.

The care behind his words was not lost on him. “Looks like we both have a full day.”

Picking up his bag and placing it over his shoulder, Cas smiled understandingly and stepped out from against the wall. “See you again in a few days, Dean.”

Dean gave a nod as Castiel strode the rest of the way down the hall. The two cousins gave each other a glance before Cas disappeared out the door, probably mostly Gabriel’s death glare combined with his cousin’s “what are you gonna do about it” facial response. Dean smirked when his boss rolled his eyes, landing on him, shorts a mess with a few sequins scattered on the floor.

“Your test results are in a sealed envelope at the front desk, as usual,” Gabriel said. “Go ahead and schedule your next wax while you’re at it, now that we’re back online.”

Dean gave him a smug stare as he walked languidly to the hallway door. This guy was really going to act like all this didn’t happen. He was going to go on with life, as if Dean didn’t just meet the man of his dreams and turn out even more horny for him than he originally thought.

“I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me, Gabe.”

“Oh come on,” he drawled. “We’re not doing this right now, are we?”

Dean pointed towards the front of the building, where Cas was currently walking towards his car to leave. “Come on, man. I could have been banging that for a long time now, and you didn’t think that I’d be interested until now? You’re an absolute monster.”

He was mostly joking, which Gabriel could see, but he still had to give the guy a hard time about it. Here he was for the entirety of his career at  _ Felix Mori,  _ single as fuck, while Gabriel had a hot cousin stashed away in a goddamn IT office. And he hadn’t even considered introducing them until Dean started getting himself stuck with calling tech support. Life just wasn’t fair.

“Neither of you were ready,” Gabriel said in a gentler tone. 

The reasoning had Dean tilting his head to the side, brows creased in thought. Gabriel said it like this was some sort of fateful meeting of soulmates, destined from everlasting to everlasting.

“Don’t be like that, Dean. When you first showed up here with your application and smug grin I took one look at your background check and thought, ‘Wow, this guy’s got more issues than National Geographic.’ You’re still working through some stuff, the details of which I have never asked and are not entitled to, but you’re making progress. You’re less angry at the world. You and Cas started connecting, and it was like, ‘Wow. They really are good for each other.’ So I made sure you guys had the opportunity to keep the connection going.”

“You’re taking credit for getting us together?”

“I wouldn’t use those exact words, but if you’re giving me credit, then… You’re welcome, I guess?” Dean’s subsequent acute glare earned a laugh out of him. “Nah, Dean-O. I had little to do with it. ‘Love finds a way,’ and all that jazz.”

Gabriel’s sappy panegyric was loaded with buzzwords, but Dean held his tongue for its duration. Yes, his troubled past was evident to anyone who took the time to study his life, and he didn’t like thinking about that fact. Something as mundane as a job application threatened exposure, and Dean never enjoyed feeling that vulnerable. Although he was fiercely protective of his own family story and wouldn’t budge an inch if Gabriel tried him, Dean was glad his boss took the high road and didn’t attempt it.

On the topic of the pace at which he was working through his crap, Gabriel’s quiet observance had proven true. The declaration of it here in the employee hall made Dean feel like he was under a microscope, but the assurance that Gabriel wouldn’t pry made it feel less scrutinizing. Dean was a very private person, so having these things about him said out loud was uncomfortable. But the boss man was right: he was getting better.

As for love? How dare he use that word? Dean wasn’t even ready to use that word up in his own head. He pushed it to the back burner, telling himself Gabriel was just spewing out figures of speech not to be taken at face value. Love was far too serious of a word for Dean, anyway.

“Okay, good talk,” Dean finalized, licking his bottom lip and tasting the remnants of Cas there. He was going to go the rest of the day thinking back on that kiss, chasing the taste and replaying the feel of Cas’ body. He was also not going to overthink all the kumbaya schmaltz Gabriel had just spewed. “I’m gonna schedule a day for Charlie to rip my pubic hairs out, and then I’m heading to the dance hall.”

Gabriel said nothing, instead slouching against the doorframe with a look that expressed an unspoken wish that Dean wouldn’t have ended the conversation so abruptly, but appreciation for how far it went. His sentimental ass had more to say, but Dean wouldn’t hear of it. Gabriel faced forward as Dean left, eyes sweeping from the place he found the two lovebirds to the stepladder folded up against the wall, all the way across the hall.

Claire cracked the door open, peeking inside with a shrewd grin. 

“You should've seen his face.”

A smile of his own broke out as he faced his niece. “And I thought I was sneaky.”

“He was so mad at first,” she giggled. “He looked distraught, like I offended his great ancestors. And then he saw my dad and dropped the phone.”

“No way.”

“Yes, way. It was the greatest thing ever. I’m getting a whole cake for myself when I get off work.”

Gabriel swelled with contentment at the success around Cas and Dean’s meeting. Now if those two could keep up the momentum after they both saw a little bit of the bad and ugly, the good that came from this would be worth it. If what he saw thus far was any indication, they had a chance. One thing was for sure, there was hope for Cas. Dean was helping him without even knowing it. Deep in his gut, he knew that wasn’t going to stop after this afternoon.

His cousin was going to be okay.


	10. Felix Mori

The road to Friday was a grueling one indeed.

Charlie was ecstatic for the update, of course, and asked approximately five hundred questions during Dean’s appointment. It was a weird feeling, a cross between a gossipy sleepover and the giddiest interrogation ever, but he humored her. She kept making “aw” sounds after every other answer, somehow finding cuteness in even the most unspectacular aspects of their meeting.

“So,” she said, smiling as she dipped another wooden spatula in wax. “What are you going to bring him this Friday?”

“Bring him?” Dean echoed.

Charlie smoothed the warm wax across his skin and tested the edge of the stripe that had been cooling. “Why not? Lots of people bring things to give their dates.”

“Like teddy bears and chocolate hearts? No offense Charlie, but I’d rather step in shit than succumb to overdone romantic gestures.”

She rolled her eyes, tearing off the cooled strip. Dean winced. “They’re romantic for a reason, you party pooper. Wouldn’t you think it’s sweet if someone brought you something on a date?”

“I’d think they were trying to either overcompensate or get some.”

“And?” Charlie prodded. “Are you getting that vibe from Cas?”

Dean didn’t have to think long. Cas was most certainly not overcompensating for anything; in fact, he had been relatively modest about his packaged goods over the phone. Side by side, his dick would make Dean’s new dildo look like amateur hour. As for trying to get some, well, Dean had already made it clear that he was okay with that. Any token Cas might be inclined to give wouldn’t press for anything Dean wasn’t already on board with.

“No.”

“And is he going to get that vibe from you?”

Dean blew out of his nose. “No,” he muttered begrudgingly.

“See? You should take my advice. It’ll be sweet.”

“I dunno what to get. I’m not really the typical Nicolas Sparks love interest.”

And there was that word again. What was going on? Thankfully, Charlie didn’t dwell on it.

“What would you like someone to bring to you, if you could choose?”

All these damn questions were downright uncomfortable. They made Dean think, and he didn’t like thinking while on his back with hot wax all over his family jewels. Still, Charlie’s lightheartedness put him at relative ease, as opposed to the well-meaning but intense analysis that typified his and Gabriel’s talks.

“Nudie mags? Six-pack of beer?”

Charlie lost it, throwing her head back in laughter as she headed back to the wax warmer. “A man after my own heart. But seriously… What about something thoughtful but not too personal, like flowers?”

Dean had never even considered it. He was so accustomed to seeing women receiving flowers in media, he just assumed being the recipient was off the table. He could have kicked himself in the ass for not seeing it before, but his upbringing was partially to blame. In true Dean Winchester fashion, he embraced the chance to rub his disdain for his father’s toxic masculinity in his face, even from across the grave.

Besides, flowers sounded… nice. If someone gave him flowers, he’d drink down the tallest beer bottle he had, wash it out, use it as a vase. As for placement, he liked the idea of the arrangement on his bedroom dresser. He would look at them while falling asleep and water them in the morning, all the while being reminded of the one who gifted them. Now that was some romantic shit he could get behind.

“There’s an idea,” he admitted, the domestic scene torn from his mind as another section of hair was violently separated from his body.

“See? I told you you’ve got this.”

Dean wasn’t so sure, but it was a kind sentiment. He didn’t want to screw this up, and getting his mind rolling with gory details like clothes and cologne and flowers had inadvertently opened up a spillage of worry. What if he didn’t end up being what Cas wanted? Dean’s life was as dull as they came — he worked, he ruminated about how much he missed his brother, and he went to bed. 

Cas was exciting. He came from a family of entrepreneurs  _ and  _ worked in IT. Most likely, he could afford the gym, hobbies, a long list of favorite vacation spots, and the restaurant he liked for his and Dean’s first date. He would get bored with Dean as soon as he found out he had nothing to offer but daddy issues and self-loathing.

With his waxing over with, all that was left for him to do was go home and overthink everything. He didn’t even know why he was stressing out so badly. When was the last time he second-guessed himself before meeting someone at a freaking restaurant?

Maybe it was because he knew he was getting ready to bare more of his soul than he ever had. He planned on getting answers to the  _ Felix Mori  _ phone lockdown policy question, but he knew there would be a price. He had to be willing to spill his guts for Cas. Why not? It was fair. He shouldn’t expect someone to share a secret with him if he wasn’t willing to do the same.

Or maybe it was because their sexual relationship had been merely hypothetical up to this point, but starting Friday night, there was a very real chance it could turn physical. It was impossible to go through the process they had and not have some sort of expectations. Were they on the same page? Should he bring it up during dinner, or would that be improper? Or should they wordlessly implement the “whatever happens, happens” procedure?

He got Cas’ text that night after he got home from his appointment and boiled a hot dog for himself. After settling in for the night, his phone lit up with a noise that it scarcely made. Come to think of it, the last time he got a text was from Gabriel, a solid month ago.

The message was the restaurant address and the time to meet there, followed by “see you there” with a winky face at the end. Dean searched the address so it would be in his maps app come Friday. The place was in a nice part of town. He had never been there, but he trusted Castiel’s taste.

No turning back now. This was really happening. He leaned against the bathroom wall and replied with “Friday can’t come soon enough, handsome” while brushing his teeth.

After assigning Cas’ name to the number, Dean collapsed on his bed and closed his eyes for a few seconds before turning on his back. It seemed he was done overanalyzing for the day, as the three beers he drank at dinner helped slow his mind. He stared at his dresser, where he imagined a beer bottle of flowers, and smiled as his eyes fluttered shut with the steady drag of sleep.

——

Dean was overjoyed to begin getting texts from Cas regularly leading up to Friday. He woke up to a good morning text, complete with a sun, flower, and bee emoji.

**>> Good morning lovely. I’m thinking of you today.**

The text was so damn cute Dean couldn’t help but smile. He rubbed his eyes so he could see the emojis better, then wrote back.

**<< It ok if I text you during my breaks?**

Dean figured Cas could, in theory, talk on his personal device while at work, but there was always the possibility of a work call coming through and interrupting them. Texting was much more work safe for both of them, at least, until the next computer bug.

**>> Anytime you want**

The standing invitation warmed Dean’s heart. He planned on sending a little something mid-shift, but since Cas responded so generously, he became tempted to begin the check-ins early.  _ No,  _ he thought.  _ Don’t act clingy. Nobody likes an attention whore. _

He arrived at work that morning with a paper mug of coffee from the gas station. Baby needed a fill-up and he needed caffeine. He usually made it at home to save money, but he felt especially up beat with a bald crotch and Friday within reach. It was a meager celebration, but just what he needed for an extra morale boost.

“Woah, look at you,” Claire commented, eyes on the unfamiliar sight of coffee in his hand first thing in the morning.

“Believe me, it’s very much needed,” he said before blowing into the steamy lid.

“Treat yourself,” she advised. “You’re loaded today.”

Dean grunted pensively, leaning over the desk to see his schedule for that day sitting beside the computer. Claire held it up for him to take. She wasn’t lying; today was packed. He even had someone requesting a specifically-themed outfit after lunch. He folded up the paper and put it in his jeans pocket. 

“A trucker? Really?”

Claire shrugged, sipping her own mug of coffee. “Weird choice, but okay.”

The request kept getting weirder as he skimmed the details. “Did you read this?”

“No, just sort of glanced at it. I didn’t really pay attention.”

“It’s a group thing… Apparently, I’m getting a lap dance from your girlfriend.”

Claire snorted. It wasn’t exactly the reaction he was expecting, but at least she was chill about it. “She’s gonna enjoy that almost as much as you enjoyed your tech support ban. Whoever requested both of you must not know how horrible you’re going to be together.”

It was true. Kaia was so much younger than him that it was borderline creepy, and the two of them had never really performed together. Their chemistry was going to be about as forced as oil and water mixing.

Dean kept reading. “I’m the trucker, she’s the escort.”

“Predictable, much? I say shock them with some gender-swapping.”

“I wish I could, kiddo. Requests are requests. I’ll mention your idea to my usual suspects. We can take the idea and flip it around, save it for later.”

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that.” Claire tilted her mug in his direction before taking another sip.

Once at his locker, Dean unfolded the paper and stuck it to the wall end with the magnet he always kept in there. He stripped out of his regular clothes and dug through a trash bag full of tops, bottoms, props, and his beloved white cowboy boots. Admittedly, some of the items in his bag were property of  _ Felix Mori,  _ but everyone seemed to have their favorites. He certainly wasn’t the first staff member to grow attached to a piece or two.

With plenty of time before the trucker number, Dean chose a pair of scrubs with tear-away bottoms. They were versatile enough to use for everything he had to do leading up to the special request, not to mention one of the most comfortable outfits in his locker. Comfort wasn’t high on the list of job perks, so he took it where he could get it.

It was too early to begin activities, but most of the residents were already awake. Most mornings Dean could find them lounging around the common areas, including the foyer where they would relax on sofas while watching television or reading the paper. Others would roll around on their motorized scooters, either looking for someone in particular or rambling to themselves about everything there was to do that day.

For others, mornings were when family members visited before their day got busy with work and family affairs. Every once in a while mornings were sad, if someone at  _ Felix Mori  _ passed away during the night. If a resident was sick, they usually fared worse during morning hours, meaning a greater influx of nurses roaming around.

Before activities started, Dean usually mingled with the seniors. He wanted to visit Gladys, one of the longest-standing residents, but her daughter and grandchildren were visiting, so that was off the table. Deciding on one of the newer men who had taken a liking to him, affectionately nicknamed “the Beav” by his neighbors, Dean made his way to one of the benches that he frequented right outside the residential wing.

The bench was empty. Sweeping his eyes across the immediate area and finding no sign of his friend, Dean entered the wing, taking his phone out to shoot Cas a text. That was another thing he liked about the scrubs: pockets.

Dean froze mid-stride at the warning message that popped up on the screen as soon as he looked at it. It was a “no signal” error message, but having seen it more times than he could count, he knew the real story. Someone had died and phones were on lockdown until the time of death was announced.

His lips grew cold as the color drained from his face. Twisting his body, he glanced out the hallway and could barely make out the arm of the empty couch where the Beav loved to sit. Full body chills ran up his spine.

“No,” he whispered, then broke into a mad dash towards the man’s suite.

He practically threw himself into the room. The door was wide open, with two nurses hovering over his body, one looking down at her watch. A lump caught in Dean’s throat as he watched the scene from afar — the utter stillness of the new resident as he lay in bed, the nurse with the watch calling the time of death, the other draping a sheet over the body.

Taking another step into the room, Dean noticed another staff member crouched in the corner, hands covering his face. It was Samandriel. Dean felt someone behind him touching his arm, but he slipped the rest of the way into the suite, bending down to comfort his workmate. Samandriel’s eyes were bloodshot with tears streaming down his face, and the next thing he knew Dean was down on the floor, holding him as he sobbed.

“We’re sorry for your loss,” one of the nurses, Billie, offered to Dean. “We all knew you were his favorite.”

Dean’s lips trembled as he looked between Billie and Tessa’s empathetic, sad smiles. “I just thought —” he began, but the words got caught in his throat, and were those tears stinging his eyes? “I thought he was gonna live forever, y’know?”

Samandriel’s sniffing pulled his attention away from the rest of the room, so he just sat there with the kid and smeared away the tear on his own face that had made its escape. The thing about living forever didn’t make much sense, especially at a place like this, but some folks just seemed less susceptible to death than others. The Beav was one of those guys. He was so full of life, even on his last leg in a hospice home.

And now, just like that, he was gone.

“I found him,” Samandriel sniveled. “I was bringing him the papers — not the local ones, the Sunday edition with all the funnies. He loved reading the funnies.”

A reminiscent smile crawled across Dean’s face. Samandriel didn’t have to do that. Gabriel had runners employed for stuff like that. But the kid liked doing it, and what sort of monster would stop him from being kind to the old man in his own sweet way?

The body van had arrived, judging by the gurney someone had just rolled in. Dean urged Samandriel up, as he doubted either of them wanted to be around for the rest. Both of them stood and exited the room, where Gabriel was watching silently.

“This is a really hard job sometimes,” Samandriel murmured, quiet enough for Dean to hear but not the boss.

Dean squeezed his shoulder. “Yes it is, kiddo.”

The two walked past Gabriel, who simply observed the nurses work to load the body onto the gurney. Samandriel kept walking, probably to another job, but Dean lingered. A completely baseless anger rang through him, reddening his ears and turning his face to stone. He glared at Gabriel with contempt, and he couldn’t even put a finger on why he was so angry.

Did he fault Gabriel for the death of his friend? No. Was Gabriel’s “no 911” rule unreasonable? Given that this was a hospice home, no. Did Dean have any tangible reason to be pissed? No.

His boss must have felt the heat of his gaze, because he turned to look at him, seemingly unaffected by the eye daggers Dean was throwing at him. Gabriel didn’t give a goofy smile and brush it off. He didn’t scold Dean for the look on his face. He didn’t cower away.

He walked right up to Dean and put his hand on his arm.

“Thanks for being there for Samandriel. And I’m sorry.”

The “I’m sorry” part could be a blanket apology for a number of things, all of which Dean was willing to consider accepting.  _ I’m sorry  _ you had to see that…  _ I’m sorry  _ you had to be the strong one in that room. _ I’m sorry  _ the phone lockdown is dumb and controlling and nonsensical.

“Look man,” Dean began, shrugging away from Gabriel. “Nothing against you personally. I just think the lockdown is really fucking dumb. Watching somebody die is bad enough, but being suddenly cut off from the outside world? It’s downright suffocating. What’s the big deal about some scared old lady calling 911? Once the dispatcher finds out it’s a hospice, they can let the caller know it’s a no-go.”

Gabriel’s bottom lip pushed tight against his top one, dimples softening his game face. “It clogs up the emergency lines, Dean.”

“That’s your logic?” he spat. “You’re going out of your way to turn of our cell service for what? Out of courtesy for a bunch of strangers working at the county safety building?”

The nurses rolled the gurney carrying the man’s body out of his suite and down the hallway. Dean took one last look, but turned his attention back to Gabriel, who blew a steady but quiet stream of air out his nose. He didn’t even look mad. Damn these Miltons and Krushnics and their unnervingly calm demeanors.

“Ask Castiel,” he said at last, taking a step back to initiate the end of the discussion.

A groan reverberated in Dean’s throat, but he bit the inside of his cheek to keep it from surfacing. Today royally sucked, and it wasn’t even time for Bingo yet. But he didn’t want to bite Gabriel’s head off — not yet — not until he had a chance to get the answer from Cas and decide for himself whether or not it was a load of shit.

Even so, he couldn’t imagine a good reason behind the policy, even if it had to do with Cas. So what if a few frightened residents were having a lapse in judgment? They had gone their whole lives knowing to call an ambulance if they or someone else needed medical attention, and hospice or not, they were running on autopilot. It was true that every one of them signed a waiver that nullified their right to save their life once death started happening — just like every other hospice service under the sun — but come on. Most of them couldn’t even remember what they ate for their previous meal. They deserved some grace. Let them try and fail to call an ambulance for their dying friend.

After Gabriel was out of earshot, Dean released a cleansing breath and looked into the Beav’s empty room. In a few hours, housekeeping would begin the process of cleaning and sanitizing the room. They would gather any personal effects and hand them over to any surviving family. The place would look pristine for the next resident, who would move in, enjoy their numbered days in Gabriel’s paradise, and die happy.

That’s what  _ Felix Mori  _ meant, after all. To die happy.

Digging his phone out of his pocket, Dean glanced at the screen to see that service was restored once again. He power-walked out of the residential hall and towards a janitor’s closet, one he knew was kept unlocked all the time. As soon as he could get away from the faint smell of death, he wanted to text Cas.

He didn’t want to discuss the lockdown thing, or the newer resident that just died, or the rest of his work day. Right now, Dean needed to go someplace else mentally. He didn’t care if it was a dark place or not, he just needed to escape. Anything except his current world would do.

**<< Hey Cas**

Leaning against both sides of the narrow closet, Dean shot the text and leaned his head back. It wasn’t super comfy, having his back against one wall and his feet against the other, but nobody ever bothered him here. It was a good place to go to get away from other aides. They never touched this stuff.

The closet was piled high with spray cleaners, mops, buckets, and aerosol cans. This was housekeeping’s turf, but what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Dean always left the place as he found it, so nobody had ever suspected him of hiding away in there.

**>> How are you this morning?**

Dean wasted no time getting to the point.

**<< Fucking awful. I don’t wanna talk about it.**

He second-guessed himself for swearing after he sent the text, but fuck it. Cas was going to see the good, the bad, and the ugly before Friday even got there.

**>> I’m sorry your day is bad. What would you like to talk about?**

Dean blew out a short laugh, thinking about all the awful things he could talk about that would get his mind off of his already awful day. The perfect subject to do the trick spilled onto the screen through his fingers, but he deleted it. Then he rewrote it and sent it.

**<< My dad was pretty shitty to me and Sam growing up**

He couldn’t believe he sent it. He really sent it. Dean’s heart beat heavier, his own words shocking him as he stared at the sent text. He really did that. He was talking shit about his dad. The convo was going and Cas was there to listen. He was about to drag his father through the mud, and the dead bastard couldn’t even defend himself.

**>> Tell me, Dean**

That was all the permission he needed. Cracking his knuckles, he shook the tension out of his shoulders and got to it. This was going to feel so good. And it would give him something else to think about.

**<< He was the worst, man. He left us for weeks at a time with no food or car. I had to lie to Sam his whole life about what dad was up to, because I didn’t want him to grow up hating his old man like I did. Got himself shot and that’s when I finally had to tell him our dad was in a gang. Now I’m the one Sam hates. Looking back I guess I shouldn’t have lied to him but I gave the kid a childhood, so what can you do.**

Dean adjusted his position while Cas processed the message. It was a loaded one, and Dean wouldn’t have been mad if he took a while to reply. Hell, he wouldn’t blame Cas if he quit texting him right then and there. Dean knew he was a mess, and Cas didn’t deserve the info dump, but he kind of asked for it, so here he was.

**>> He left you with a very hard decision. No parent should leave those responsibilities on their child, even if they are the eldest. It sounds like he was obsessed with something. Why was he in a gang?**

Dean’s reply to that was short, and not a subject he enjoyed delving into.

**<< Our mom got killed in a driveby shooting**

He let out a sigh as he sent it. His hands shook a little at the bluntness of the words before him — words he had never typed out, ever. They were too painful. They held too much weight. And yet, sending them to Cas felt healthy, like draining poison from a wound. It didn’t feel “good” per se, but Dean definitely felt something by doing it.

**>> I’m so sorry, Dean.**

**>> Is this why you’re selling your dad’s records?**

The two texts came back-to-back, and Dean guessed that Cas thought of the second one as soon as he hit send on the first, heartfelt one. Regardless, he had it mostly right.

**<< It’s probably the biggest reason, yeah**

It was strange having someone unravel his life story right before his very eyes. These were things Dean didn’t say to people — they were too weird and he didn’t want anyone’s pity. He didn’t want someone who had never lost anything in their life looking down their nose at him, wondering why he didn’t just suck it up. People with normal lives would never understand, and he hoped they never would. But he also didn’t want them prying, because it was pointless to resurface pain if the person listening couldn’t truly carry it with him.

He wasn’t getting the “rich, privileged kid” vibe from Cas. On the surface he appeared so, but if he was he didn’t act like it, and spilling his guts was doing exactly what Dean wanted, so he would keep doing it. Telling Cas this stuff was giving him something else to think about. Besides, it was kind of cathartic.

Cas replied:

**>> He engaged in a life of crime to find his wife’s killer and avenge her. But in the process he neglected his children. You must know Dean, what you did for Sam was very brave. He can’t comprehend the reasoning behind your lie because he wasn’t the one who had to fabricate it.**

Dean huffed a humorless laugh as he typed out the next message.

**<< I kept telling him dad was a vacuum cleaner salesman, and when he came home with cuts and bruises I told Sam the people he sold door-to-door beat him up. Lmao**

He rubbed his temple, the absurdity of the cover story fully hitting him. At the time it seemed pretty believable, at the tender age of seven when Sammy started asking questions. The kid believed him, too, up until he was twelve. Then Dean had to tell their dad to quit coming home all beaten up. This resulted in even longer absences, but at least Sam got to love his father for that much longer.

**>> I think you should talk to him, Dean. I can arrange it, if you want.**

Dean’s lungs constricted at the thought. He typed faster than he could think, unnecessarily anxious that Cas would start talking to Sam about it without his permission. The fear was founded on nothing at all, as Cas had so far proven to be level-headed enough to not do dumb shit like that. 

**<< Not yet**

**<< I need to think about it some more**

Now he sounded indecisive. He brushed it off. Maybe he was indecisive. Or maybe he just needed to know Sam actually wanted to hear from him. Cas could probably find that out fairly quickly. However, it was a conversation for another day.

**>> Do you share your dad’s taste in music?**

Dean thought that was a strange question coming from Cas, but he was willing to slightly divert the subject. It wasn’t really that off-topic, anyway. The subject matter of his father and the records sitting on his kitchen table were close, but he actually enjoyed talking music.

**<< Yeah, it’s about the only thing we have in common. I like Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Bad Company, Rolling Stones… Lots of stuff. Had to sell a few of them which kind of sucks. But I guess I can just listen to any of it on YouTube if I feel like it.**

It made him realize just how sad it was, looking down at the text message and reflecting on his reasoning behind getting rid of them. Sometimes he hated his dad so much he wanted to burn every record he had, and sometimes he’d get these flash memories of singing along with him as they played Bob Seger on the turntable.

It was complicated.

Truth be told, he had grown attached to the dusty old things. Getting them out of his life was supposed to fix that, but he wasn’t so sure it had worked. That vinyl didn’t just hold the hurt of childhood with an absent father. In those grooves also sat the tunes John sang to woo Mary. The memories sat ingrained in those very records, now sent off to someone else who had no emotional connection to those exact pieces of vinyl.

Was he throwing away the baby with the bathwater? If so, it was too late now.

**>> Did he try and recruit you into a life of crime as well?**

The question was a fair one, and opened up the chance to discuss both of their lives before working in their respective corners of the Milton world. Life before  _ Felix Mori _ was a bit turbulent for Dean, but he could honestly say his dad’s profession held no appeal to him.

**<< He kept me and Sam out of it for the most part. I asked him some questions about it a few times, but nothing he said ever enticed me enough to give it a try. I saw firsthand what it does to families and I’m not interested. Once I was old enough to push a lawn mower I started doing odd jobs so Sam and I could eat.**

**<< What about you? Always been into computers?**

Dean glanced down at his watch while he waited for the reply. He still had time before outdoor activities began, which he didn’t want to miss even if there wasn’t a penalty for tardiness. It was gorgeous outside today and he wanted to fill his lungs with fresh air and enjoy the grass between his toes.

**>> Not always. I used to work for the county.**

Raising his brows, Dean hummed and wiggled his thumbs above the screen a little before typing. Castiel Krushnic… working for the government? It sounded so weird, considering the fact that he was probably a trust fund baby who could have whatever job he pointed at.

**<< I mean, I get that the benefits are good. I’m just surprised you didn’t get into something like Gabriel did. Or your other relative with the weird-ass cloning company. Could’ve made more money, too.**

He knew he was treading potentially offensive waters by bringing up money, but hey, he had just admitted to growing up in a household where his father paid the bills through nefarious means. Cas couldn’t top that, no matter how hard he tried. Whatever reasoning he had for choosing public service above entrepreneurship, Dean wasn’t quick to judge.

**>> Yes, I suppose I could have :) But it’s never been about the money for me. I wanted to do something good. So I became a 911 call taker and dispatcher.**

Dean read the text, then read it again. Then he looked away from his phone, blinked, and read it again. A dispatcher? Cas? Cas used to be a dispatcher.

_ Cas had worked at the 911 center. _

A sick feeling rose in his belly as that morning’s tragedy replayed in his mind. The empty bench. The blocked signal. The dead body. Gabriel’s cool collectiveness surrounding the policy, and his fierce loyalty to family. They were tight-knit, he said. They looked out for each other, he said.

The lockdown policy was in place because of Cas. It had to be.

**<< Does that have anything to do with the service blackouts when someone flatlines here? What happened?**

At this point, he couldn’t be bothered if he sounded nosey. He was so,  _ so  _ close to learning the truth. It was so within reach he could practically reach out and touch it, and yet it remained as far away as Cas decided. He hoped and prayed that Cas would tell him. For his own peace of mind, he had to know.

**>> Is it alright if I tell you that on Friday?**

Dean let out a tense sigh. He didn’t want to wait; he wanted to know now. But Cas had his reasons for wanting to do this in person. Maybe he wanted this to have a more personal touch, or maybe he just felt like it would be lame to talk about something this deep over text. Perhaps he was afraid if Dean knew now, he wouldn’t want to meet up on Friday.

Dean couldn’t tell either way just by looking at the words on the screen, but he was willing to wait. He could do it for Cas. Just a couple more days, anyway.

**<< Sure**

There. It was settled. Dean was going to have his answer at last. 

Outdoor activities time was nigh upon him, so he scooted up until he could get his footing, then stepped out of the narrow janitor’s closet. He took a look around, ensuring no one had discovered his hiding place, and was about to put his phone in his pocket when Cas sent one last text:

**>> Wonderful. I’ll make it worth the wait ;)**


	11. But first, pie

Friday was finally here.

Charlie managed to sneak in a brow wax during his appointment earlier that week, so his face game was already strong. He spent thirty minutes staring at himself in his bathroom mirror, debating whether or not to shave. He had just shaved that morning, but since the rest of him was pretty smooth, the idea was tempting.  _ But  _ he really,  _ really  _ enjoyed feeling Cas’ scruff against his face when they kissed in the hallway at the beginning of the week, so just in case Cas had the same taste, he left it. Having much lighter hair than Cas, a five o’clock shadow was barely noticeable on Dean.

He meticulously chose every piece of his outfit, holding up shirt after shirt in front of the mirror before tossing them carelessly onto the bed. Button-up or nah? He didn’t know the dress code for the restaurant Cas had picked out. What if he saw some action tonight? It would suck if seven obnoxious buttons ended up being the buzzkill that kept Dean from getting laid.

As for pants, Dean didn’t own very many anyway, so the choice was far more clear. He went with a pair of khakis, so pale they were almost white. The wrinkles didn’t fall out after he shook them, so he plugged in the iron with an aggravated groan. Still, there was a silver lining. Knowing his pants made it easier to choose a shirt and shoes.

Now hold up. All this talk of clothes, and he hadn’t even given thought to his undies! That was supposed to be the cornerstone of the outfit. What was it going to be? What would he choose for the final treat before the big reveal? Red might be too bright for pants that light. Dark blue would work, but that was kind of boring. Green reminded him of too many leprechaun jokes. 

Then he found them. Deep within his dresser, folded neatly, was a pair of boxers with the Bat Signal directly on the front. They were perfect. Dean chuckled as he slipped them on, followed shortly by his freshly pressed pants. He felt like a Beverly Hills brat already, and he hadn’t even chosen a shirt or shoes.

He ended up going with a blue and white gingham button up and chukka boots. They were his favorite pair of shoes, with a shiny toe and zippers up the inner sides. He hardly ever wore them, as his life mainly consisted of work clothes and whatever he was wearing to bed — if anything — so having somewhere to go in them made him feel like a million bucks.

“You snazzy son of a bitch,” he pep-talked himself as he ran his fingers through his hair, persuading the longer strands up top to obey him and his styling wax. He had always kept it fairly short growing up, mostly to spite his long-haired brother, but now that he was exposed to workmates of varying hairstyles, he saw the appeal of keeping the top  _ just  _ long enough to style, while keeping the rest off his ears and neck.

He stopped in front of the mirror once more before heading out. He kept second-guessing the damn shirt, but he had two buttons undone, plus nothing on underneath. That was only five buttons to get through. In the world of sex obstacles, it wasn’t the worst-case scenario.

Ducking into his car, he used his hand to sweep up the mess in the passenger seat consisting of a straw wrapper, his schedule from that day, and his test results from Jody’s visit, which all came back negative, thank you very much. That front seat was going to be for his flowers, and it would be awkward to hand Cas a bouquet of hay fever, STD lab results, and an empty straw wrapper.

Jesse and Cesar’s was the only florist on the way, so Dean stopped by there, immediately feeling at a loss upon entry. Panic started to set in, followed by doubt that Charlie’s idea was a good one. He had no idea what he was doing. This was going to be a clusterfuck. He was going to show up to a fancy restaurant with an embarrassment.

“How may I help you?” a masculine voice asked from his left.

Dean turned to see a man in a red and black flannel with a name tag reading “Jesse.” He was bald with a short graying beard, and had a warm smile. He also looked like he could lift the entire etagere of plants he was organizing. Relieved at the offer, Dean diverted his linear course and swerved to the side to take advantage of the help.

“I’m um… I need to get a bouquet.” He swallowed. “Of flowers.”

When the man chuckled, Dean began to worry that his tone would turn patronizing, but it didn’t. “Well, you came to the right place.”

Dean glanced around at the daunting shop full of plants. Everywhere he looked, in every corner and side,  _ plants.  _ Crates of them stacked on each other, laid on cinder blocks, arranged across shelves, and hanging from the ceiling. This place had everything: ferns, ivy, flowers of every size, shape and color, and wreaths. 

He was out of his element. Thankfully, the guy in front of him wasn’t.

“I’m about to go on a date,” Dean explained. “Wanted to just… give the guy a little something, y’know.”

Jesse’s eyes brightened. He turned towards the door leading to the back room, which was partially camouflaged by an enormous wreath and hanging vines.

“Honey, come out here and make this guy something special!”

The man that came out of the back was even burlier than Jesse, if possible. He sported a sharp faded cut and neatly trimmed beard, dark olive skin, and a gray plaid shirt. Once he came closer Dean could clearly make out the “Cesar” on his name tag, as well as the wedding bands on his and Jesse’s hands, and the pieces fell together.

“What have we got here?” Cesar asked. His voice was gruff, like he had smoked one too many cigarettes in his youth, but he was no less pleasant than his husband. The anxious feeling Dean had walking in washed away, and he let out the tension in his shoulders for the first time since arriving.

“This fella’s got a hot date tonight,” Jesse said.

“Is that right?”

_ Yes, my date most certainly is hot,  _ Dean thought with a smile. Too corny to say out loud, though. “Meeting him at the Grapevine,” he decided on instead.

“First date?” Cesar asked while poking around at a few nearby stems as the wheels in his head turned.

Dean looked down bashfully. “Yeah, actually. We’ve met in person once before, but before then it was over the phone stuff.”

The oversimplification did their story no justice, but Cesar nodded thoughtfully and began gathering the precise blooms that inspired him. “I know just the thing.”

“That’s Cesar for you,” Jesse laughed from deep within his belly. “No matter what the occasion, he’ll make you something unique. No two of his arrangements are alike.”

“Awesome,” Dean said, already impressed. 

Cesar spent the rest of the trek around the shop quietly contemplating each choice, holding the fistful of stems with strength and care. Every once in awhile he’d twist his hand around to see the whole bunch thus far, making sure it looked full and balanced from every angle. Dean stood where he had stopped in front of Jesse, just watching as he worked his magic.

The end result was stunning. After paying and receiving multiple well wishes from the couple, Dean left with a lilt in his step, ready to take on the night.  _ You got this,  _ Charlie’s words replayed, dispelling the last few nervous jitters. Once he pulled into the parking lot at the Grapevine, he spotted Cas getting out of a blue car of his own.

Dean’s heart did a backflip at the sight of him. His hair stood styled in the front, framing his face and drawing attention to those perfectly blue eyes. Seeing him against the muted tones of late afternoon was completely different than seeing him in the harsh lighting at work, but he was breathtaking in both contexts. 

He wore a blue and gray striped blazer over a solid black t-shirt. He might have been wearing jeans but somehow they did nothing to lower the level of dress. It might have been his light tan suede shoes evening it out, or maybe he was just confident enough to rock it. The latter made more sense to Dean. He couldn’t imagine a single reason Cas should lack self-confidence.

Cas spotted Dean in his car and smiled as he walked towards him. Reaching over, Dean took the flowers, a bouquet of red azaleas, pale peach roses, and green hydrangeas, and hid them behind his back as he got out. Cas was almost to the hood of Baby when Dean realized he had his hands behind his back, too.

Dean’s brow scrunched, peering curiously at the arms that disappeared behind Cas. 

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Cas quipped.

The cheeky bastard had just stolen one of his best lines. Dean laughed deeply as he shut the car door. He took a couple of steps before carefully taking the flowers out from behind his back, paying very close attention to the way Cas lost his composure at the sight of them.

Up to this point, the expressions Dean had seen Cas make were controlled and purposeful, not one out of line with what he meant to convey. What he didn’t offer in words he made up for in the way the corner of his lip turned slightly upward at something suggestive, the twinkle in his eyes before he laughed, and the way his eyes darkened when they lingered on Dean’s lips for one second too long.

If any conclusion could be made from Cas’ face, it was that he was taken by complete surprise. All preemptive authority over his facial muscles fell away, leaving him dumbfounded, jaw slack, with his eyes fixed on the beautiful flowers Dean presented him. His following look was that of uncontrollable elation, expressed by a wide, toothy grin that crinkled his eyes and nose.

Seeing him smile that big made Dean smile, too. Cas adjusted the thing of mystery behind his back so he could use one hand to take the bouquet. Their hands brushed as Dean placed it in his hand, the feather-light touch waking up a hot tingle deep within his abdomen.  _ Not the right time,  _ he scolded himself.

“Thank you,” Cas said, “these are beautiful.”

Dean took a sharp inhale at the way those reds, peaches, and greens made Cas’ earthy features stand out even more. He was picturesque, like a painting of a field of flowers with the benevolent sky above, contained in his eyes; his hair dark enough in the dull evening light to mirror the blackness of space beyond the atmosphere.

“It’s uh, it’s… um,” Dean sputtered, fairly certain this was the part where he was supposed to say  _ you’re welcome _ but finding it hard to concentrate on something so mechanical when he could be talking about how fucking gorgeous Cas looked.

“Mine is going to require a bit more explaining.” 

Cas’ preamble was paired with his grin relaxing into a more solemn air, but with his mouth still turned up in a peaceful, if not hesitant smile. In one fluid motion he pulled the surprise out from behind his back and held them out for Dean to see — three familiar records, stacked obliquely on top of each other so each could be quickly identified.

Body tensing up, Dean’s mouth fell open as his eyes danced across the three covers: Yesterday and Today by the Beatles, Def Leppard’s Warchild, and Led Zeppelin II. All with the exact marks of wear he remembered upon parting with them; all the last things he expected to see ever again, much less at this moment.

“Cas?” Dean gasped. 

Holy shit, those were  _ his  _ records. In the flesh.  _ How did he… wait. _

“I thought you should have them back,” Cas expounded. “I could tell from the start that these bring you joy. You should never have had to part with them.”

“Wait, you bought all three of those from me? You’re BeeMine69?”

Cas gave a meek head tilt. “Yes.”

“At full price?”

Cas nodded his head.

Taking the records, Dean looked at each one individually. They really were his. A myriad of emotions washed over him as he searched for something, anything, that would convey what was happening in his brain. 

He was overwhelmed with each one, and together they created a whirlwind of feelings vying for dominance, leaving him stunned and unable to choose which point to bring up first. Cas was the repeat customer. Cas had essentially given him $9,000 in exchange for three vinyl circles he was handing back over. It was too much. Cas had already given him too much.

What the  _ fuck  _ was Dean doing here? 

“I don’t —” he choked, raising his head from downwards at his records to Cas’ face. “Th-thank you, Cas. Dammit, there ain’t much I can do to thank you enough. But —”

“Why?” Cas finished his question.

Dean nodded. In the event that Cas was simply doing this out of the kindness of his heart, it was going down in the Guiness Book of World Records as the most romantic shit ever done. If this was an elaborate ploy to get laid, then it was certainly working; amid the confusing thoughts and feelings wheeling around in Dean’s noggin, arousal was one of them. 

“Lock those up and walk with me,” Cas said, twisting around in the direction of his own vehicle. Dean followed the instruction, hiding the records in the trunk, then followed Cas until they reached the blue car. After unlocking it, Cas placed the flowers in the back seat. 

“Dean, you are not obligated to forgive your father for the things he put you through. You must know that. No matter what he did that might atone, those things do not negate the harm he caused. But you must also know, he loved you and your brother very much.”

Brows furrowed, Dean leaned against Cas’ car and slipped his hands in his pockets. It was a weird way to start a date, but okay.

“All I know is that your memory of him is complex, made worse by the way he died.”

“Put a pretty bad taste in my mouth, yeah.”

Cas swallowed thickly. “He died saving your lives.”

Dean’s stony face softened, the blow of the claim shaking everything he ever believed regarding the negligence John Winchester typified in life concluding at its pinnacle in death. “How could you possibly know that?”

The calm collection in Cas’ face was the only thing keeping him peaceful enough to listen, but it was enough. Cas searched Dean’s face before answering, seeing fear, doubt, rage, irreparable damage, but also a sliver of longing. It was the last remnants of hopeful faith a little boy had in his father, before his entire life went to shit.

“Because I took the 911 call.”

Dean had to lean back a little. In the wake of Cas’ revelation a hundred completely different thoughts flooded his mind, all containing at least one swear word.  _ What the hell does that mean, ‘He died saving your lives’? The bastard did nothing but ignore us. That makes no fucking sense… _

“You…  _ you  _ worked the phones the night my dad died?”

“Yes,” Cas divulged. “I remember it like it was yesterday. I’d like to tell you about it, if you will listen.”

Dean glanced at the restaurant mere feet away from where they stood. “How ‘bout we discuss it sitting down?”

Cas nodded as a relieved smirk flashed across one cheek. “That sounds agreeable.”

After they were seated, Dean took a quick look around at the place. It wasn’t uncomfortably fancy; no linen tablecloths or coat checks, and the serving staff didn’t seem stuffy. The plates they brought from the kitchen were full and spared of the ornate emptiness accompanying so many hifalutin joints he had only seen on tv. The atmosphere put him at ease, but he was going to need something stronger than water to continue a discussion of this caliber.

Like an actual angel, Cas ordered them a bottle of something fancy that Dean couldn’t pronounce. He wasn’t a wine guy, but it was never too late to start, especially with someone like Cas. With him, it was easy stepping out and eating souvlaki instead of microwaved pizza. He felt safe with Cas.

“How did you choose that username, anyway?” Dean asked after they placed their drink orders. “BeeMine69? You keep hives or something?”

“Unfortunately, that would violate my neighborhood’s HOA bylaws,” Cas replied with a rueful sigh. “But it is a cause I believe in.”

“Bee-lieve in,” Dean chortled.

Cas paused from tilting his wine glass back, smiling. “I enjoy giving to several bee conservancies. They are a vital part of our ecosystem.”

Spending thousands on Dean’s Buy It Now listings, only to hand them right back? Living in fancypants town? Giving to charities? This guy was freaking loaded. Why the hell did he want anything to do with Dean?

“And the 69 part? Is that the year you were born or something?”

“No,” Cas said, sending a suggestive once-over Dean’s way.

He felt the blood rushing to his head, signalling an oncoming blush, and covered his giddy laugh with a cough. “Oh…  _ oh.” _

“It is as rude as you think, yes.”

“And how did you know Impala67 was me? Lucky guess?”

Cas shrugged. “I seem to recall you wishing to finish restoring your classic car. That and the high Buy It Now prices were a dead giveaway.”

“That whole thing, by the way, with you snatching those up just so I could have them again… I really can’t thank you enough, man. Why did you do it?”

“Initially, for the sentimental value I knew was bound to be tied to the music. As I got to know you, however, I learned the complexity of your relationship to it. Not all good, obviously, but not all bad either.”

“And now you’re telling me my dad died a hero and you heard it with your own two ears?”

“Of course not,” Cas denied with a calm shake of his head. “‘Hero’ is a word I wouldn’t equate with John Winchester in a million years. His death simply entailed more details than you were led to believe.”

“Alright then. Explain it to me, Lucy.”

“When your father set out to avenge your mother’s death, he made enemies. Joining an organized syndicate meant accepting the fact of rival gangs. He eventually found her murderer, did he not?”

“Yes,” Dean replied, looking to the side as he remembered. His dad came home soaked in blood that night, but happier than he had ever seen. It was the night Dean was sure all the absences would end. Unfortunately, he was wrong. John never stopped taking off, leaving them for more danger, more crime… until some cops told Dean through a locked door that his father had been shot in the head.

“After your father spilled rival gang blood, they were out for him. He had to double his efforts of roaming around undetected. Any public appearance he made would double his chances of his enemies finding him. In order to lay as low as possible, he had to detach from everything and everyone. Including you and your brother.”

“You know all this stuff about my dad’s gang how?”

“Not ‘your dad’s’ gang, Dean. The rules apply for any gang,” Cas explained. “I knew which ones rules which sides of the city. I knew where all the high-drug areas were. I could answer the phone and tell which repeat caller was about to start screaming about shots fired, from their frightened breaths alone. So yes, I do know.”

“Okay,” Dean muttered. “Tell me about the call.”

Cas poured more wine into his glass. Apparently Dean wasn’t the only one who needed it for tonight.”

“Your father called 911 to tell us the location of his children. I remember him saying that one of the rival members sent him a message. I told John it could have been a ruse to flush him out, but he could not be reasoned with.”   
  
“What was the message?”

“That the rival gang knew John had children and where they lived. They told him he would never find you again unless he turned himself over.”

Dean’s lips grew cold as the color flushed from his face.

“He called me while running from something. He was breathing hard but screaming into the phone. He said ‘I’ve got them all, they’re all on my tail. None of them are trailing behind to kill my kids. Go make sure they’re okay. Please, send someone to make sure they’re okay.’ I dispatched some units to set up a perimeter just in case he was wrong about not having anyone lagging behind to find you.”

The night of his father’s death replayed in his mind, complete with flashing red and blue lights, a knock at the door, and some very bad news. Dean sent the cops away before they could explain much. Sam’s face was white-washed with shock and horror at the bare-minimum of the news, and Dean simply wanted to break the news of John’s true profession and leave it at that. Not even he wanted any details. Their father was a bad man and now he was dead. It was cut and dry, and Dean wanted to keep it that way.

And now Cas was shedding light onto the fact that no, it had not been that simple.

“The last thing I heard before the call was lost,” Cas continued, “was the blast of an explosion. From the sound of it, he set a trap and led the other gang into it. The detail about him being shot in the head is true, which must mean he and one rival member survived, but only long enough for the shooting to happen.”

Dean leaned back against his seat and let out a breath he had been holding sometime during the explanation. 

“The shooter was taken into custody, the perimeter was secured, and the news of John Winchester’s death was relayed to you.”

The information settled into, weaving into all the empty spaces in the story he knew so well. It all made so much more sense now: staying away until he knew he wasn’t being followed, keeping him and Sam as detached from the life as possible… It didn’t make the ending less painful, but it provided some sort of closure. It wouldn’t erase the life of neglect, but it shed light on the last page of that story, shrouded in darkness for so long.

“So you’re telling me,” Dean summarized, “that the last thing my dad ever did was blow up a bunch of shitheads and call the cops on himself?”

“That is what I’m telling you.”

“Why would he do that? He was a felon, he had warrants. Those people don’t call the cops… Not if they want to stay out of jail.”

“You’re right,” Cas acknowledged. “They don’t… Unless they already know they’re going to die.”

Dean peered down his glass, which had already been refilled twice and looked too empty yet again. He drained it of the last bit and set it down. “He was planning on dying in that goddamn explosion.”

“That is my take-away as well.”

Blinking at the plate the server set before him, he settled in his seat and huffed contemplatively. Cas received his plate of scaloppini and waited for Dean to process all the information. It was a lot, after all, for anyone to take in, especially someone as close to the situation as him.

“Sam… Sam doesn’t…”

“Sam doesn’t know,” Cas assured him. “He doesn’t hate you, Dean. At least, not anymore. We spent a few shifts together during his training, and he told me in passing that he wanted to talk to you again.”

“Then why doesn’t he sack up and call me? He’s got my number.”

Cas shrugged as he began slicing. “Perhaps he’s afraid of what you will say, after so long a silence between you.”

“Yeah? Well, he’s the one who blocked me.”

“I see.” 

The two suspended any conversation to begin eating, which did a world of good for letting the discussion thus far settle between them. If Dean was honest, it felt pretty damn good to have the whole truth. On the night of John Winchester’s death all those years ago, Dean wasn’t ready for the whole story; at that point, he was still holding onto the image of his father he wanted to see. Making him irredeemable made it easier for Dean to say goodbye to not only him, but the toxicity he brought into his life.

But by tonight, he was ready. There were many things he still hated about his old man, and no amount of explosives or shots fired could erase them. But he didn’t want to hate him all the way; that was what made getting rid of his music so hard. Dean saw that now. Thanks to Cas, he could begin again in his journey to healing from his upbringing.

“I appreciate you telling me this, Cas. I just wish Sam could know, too.”

“I can wait after one of my shifts until he comes in,” Cas offered. “It might be the last push he needs to break down the barrier between you two.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, finishing up a bite of food. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but Cas was one hell of an orator. If anyone could tell the story in a way that left a bug in Sam’s ear to give his brother a call, it was him. Dean didn’t have faith in much, but he had faith in Cas.

They finished their meals in relative silence, not pushing the conversation one way or another. The topic of Cas’ previous job still loomed, but Dean had just experienced the info dump of the century. It would do them both well to space out their heavy discussions.

Besides, he wanted to talk about something other than death. They chatted about how their work week had been, what kind of people called Cas, and various clients Dean had. It was comfortable, unhurried; what they talked about was less important than simply hearing the other explain it. 

Dean couldn’t look away as Cas described a particularly irritating caller. Seeing his top lip turn up when he talked about her attitude was mesmerizing, and he wondered how many times Cas’ lip had done that over the phone, without a soul around to appreciate it. His brows creased in the middle when he took a beat to remember a word, and his eyes opened a little wider whenever Dean made an affirming comment.

Everything about Cas was fascinating, which only had him falling harder. The way Cas moved spoke not only to Dean’s soul, but his body as well. The man who had felt so right from the start was right here, right now. The feeling pulled at them subtly through the duration of their time at the restaurant, until the server came around and the two realized they had slowly been leaning towards each other in their chairs.

“Dessert for you gentlemen?” she suggested.

Dean straightened his back against his chair as Cas answered, “Only if he turns down my offer of pie at my place.”

Head bobbing up at the mention of pie, Dean darted his eyes over to see Cas already looking at him in hopeful anticipation. “Hell yeah, pie!” As pie overruled tiramisu any day, it was a no-brainer, and he blurted out his answer right as it hit him that  _ Cas had just successfully invited him to his house. _

“I’ll get the check,” she said, a knowing smirk skating across her cheek as she left.

“You bake it yourself?” Dean asked to avoid the topic hanging in the air that he knew both of them were thinking. They were going to where Cas lived. Alone. At night. After weeks on end of desperately wanting to fuck.

“I gave it my best attempt. I enjoy the science of it. Baking is very precise.”

The disclaimer was a common one, essentially “I don’t know if it turned out okay,” but in Dean’s experience, everytime someone said that, it ended up being delicious. From the sound of it, this wasn’t Cas’ first pie, and Dean’s intrigue grew. He had never personally attempted it — the whole process was too multifaceted for someone accustomed to buying the finished product — but he appreciated the time and skill Cas had put into it.

“Guess I’ll just follow you there, huh?”

“I’ll give you the address if you like,” Cas offered. “But it’s a pretty direct route. I can’t imagine anyone getting lost following me there.”

“I think I can keep up with ya,” Dean disclosed, which sounded a lot more suggestive than he had planned, and the accompanying arching brow wasn’t helping. Made nervous by his own flirtation, he licked his bottom lip before biting down on it, which Cas followed with his increasingly dark gaze.

Cas took a breath to respond, his back leaving the chair as he steadily began to incline towards Dean, when their server returned with the check presenter. She placed it between them as they leaned away from each other again, mentioning  _ thanks  _ or  _ please take your time _ or another one of those cordial lines that left guests with a pleasant taste in their mouths. Neither of them were paying much attention, if they were honest. However, once she left and it was just them and the check, it became a tug-of-war.

“Don’t,” Dean said as he tried to pry the billfold from Cas’ hands. 

Cas wasn’t relenting. “I asked, I pay. Isn’t that in the rules?”

“Pretty sure the rules don’t apply when one of them gives the other $9,000 before the date.”

“It’s for your car’s restoration,” Cas defended. “And that house you’re saving up for. This is completely separate.”

“Cas, c’mon… At least let me pay for my own.”

“I’ll send you home with leftover pie.”

Dean let go with a huff. He needed to up his game. He couldn’t be letting Cas finding out all his weak spots in one night. “Dammit.”

Cas hid his sly smile as he filled the billfold with enough cash to cover the meals and a generous tip. It was settled; Dean was going over to his house. And if he got his way, he wouldn’t be leaving until morning or later. He was off this Saturday, and one way or another, he was spending it in bed, whether it be with Cas or at his own home.

On the way out the door Cas pulled him in by his shirt collar and left a teasing kiss, as well as a whispered  _ see you soon  _ against his mouth before parting to his car. The contact left Dean a tad stunned, and Cas was halfway across the parking lot before Dean realized he had to  _ actually start walking _ in order to get to his car and follow the leader.

He was really doing this. They had been toying around with each other for well over a month, making risque comments, chatting each other up, and somewhere along the way finding that there was more to it than that, after all. But until tonight, it was all what-if and you-wish. As Dean followed Cas through traffic, it hit him that this was really happening. He was going home with Castiel Krushnic.

His heartbeat quickened at the thought. He inhaled deeply, willing the butterflies in his stomach to subside and his wishful nether regions to stop reminding him of how badly he wanted Cas’ naked body touching his. Infuriatingly slow as this romance was, he couldn’t allow one region of his body to dictate how the night went. 

Cas deserved better than that. They had already shared so much, and Dean had to accept the fact that Cas might’ve had enough sharing tonight. They had given each other pieces of themselves they had kept from everyone else. It was a big deal, and kind of exhausting. Dean wouldn’t fault Cas for wanting to have dessert and call it a night.

Still, there was something else lurking behind his controlled gaze. It would peek through when his brow lifted assertively after something said that could be taken two ways. It came out in amused chuckles and the way his torso subtly leaned towards Dean. It was unspoken, but thinly veiled, and Dean wasn’t entirely ready to write it off as himself imagining things.

It made the air around them tense, like they were both waiting for the other to make the first move. It hung between them like bait they both wanted to snap at, but _ not in public.  _ With every wayward glance it built thicker and more maddening. By the time they left, Dean’s arousal was stirring in his pants, and he would have gotten all the way to Cas’ house without his own dick screaming at him, if it wasn’t for that kiss.

Damn that evoking, rousing kiss. It touched every nerve ending on his lips and bolted downward in his bones, down, down, down… until it pooled in his groin. There it festered, brooded, for every mile between the restaurant and Cas’ house. It made him half hard, right there in the driver’s seat, and he groaned with every turn Cas made in front of him.

By the time they rolled into the driveway, Dean was a sweating, cussing mess. His hand slipped putting the car in park and his fingers shook as he unbuckled his seat belt. Before exiting the car he took a glance at his surroundings. The place was nice — green lawn, white siding and black shutters, veranda on the second floor. Not exactly the mansion he had envisioned, but he was beginning to learn that Cas was more than just a rich kid.

Right, Cas. Dean got out of the car and hid behind the open door for a moment, begging his dick to calm the fuck down under his breath.  _ Once again, not the right time,  _ he thought, looking down at himself. When he raised his head, Cas had already taken the bouquet out of his car and was headed towards the front door. Sighing in relief that he could walk behind Cas with his raging boner undetected, Dean followed him up the porch steps.

Cas glanced back and smiled at Dean as he unlocked the door. The smell of fresh eucalyptus wafted through the opening door. He walked inside. It seemed serene, if a bit plain. Everything was calm.

Until it wasn’t.

Following the  _ click  _ of the shut door, Cas backed Dean against the wall, locking eyes for a single tremendously long second before proceeding. Dean supposed it was one last search for any hint of hesitation, although to his impatient ass it was the longest second of his life. Next thing he knew his wrists were pinned against the wall and Cas was devouring him like he didn’t just eat an entire plateful of food.

He muffled Dean’s hungry moan under ravenous kisses. Dean felt squished between the wall and Cas’ solid body but he was so far from complaining, Cas could crush him and he’d thank him for the privilege. The only movements he had full control over were that of his head, so he tilted and turned against Cas, searching for any possible way for their mouths to be more completely in line.

Their tongues probed and explored as extensions of themselves, growing in need and never satisfied. With every inch they found their cravings grew, until their mouths simply weren’t enough. When Cas dropped down to nip at his neck Dean tilted his head back against the wall with a groan, and he couldn’t care less how filthy it sounded. This wasn’t his workplace, or his car parked in a neighborhood, or even his shower — here he could scream Cas’ name as loud as he wanted.

As their breaths grew deep Cas’ grip on Dean’s wrists tightened. It was borderline painful, but Dean kind of loved it. They were digging into his skin and most likely leaving finger-shaped bruises, and he would wear them with pride. Besides, Cas was too far gone to realize he was doing it, which Dean counted as a small victory in the quest to making this typically calm and collected man come undone.

Abruptly Cas stopped, pulling back enough to take in Dean’s open-mouthed irked grimace. Although panting heavily, his eyes still held onto a sliver of restraint, as if he was determined not to lose himself. Before Dean could make a suggestion that would land both of them horizontal, he felt the ball of a hand glide down his clothed dick.

The simple touch answered all the yearning he had been feeling since that day in the employee hallway. That day, something ignited deep within him, and it could only be sated by the man pinning him to the wall right now, one Castiel Krushnic. Arching his back into the palm of Cas’ hand, Dean realized he had one free hand and used it to tug on Cas’ lapel, wordlessly pleading for his body to come closer.

The palm against his dick cupped around him, and Dean shamelessly chuckled as the feel of fingers wrapped around him as best they could through layers of fabric. It was almost too much, and yet not enough. He was fully hard now, tenting his pants and pressing against Cas’ hand. It was indecent and desperate but he didn’t care. 

He could feel the heat of Cas’ hand, even through clothing. The contact made Dean’s cock thrum with want, and so he kept rolling his hips forward. Inches away, Cas stared into his eyes with  _ that look  _ like he knew he was in control and he had every intention of staying that way. Cas licked his lips but instead of going in for a kiss, leaned to the side, brushing Dean’s cheek with his own and gently putting his earlobe between his teeth.

Dean’s knees buckled at the sensation of Cas’ breath on his ear. “Ugh, Cas,” he breathed as he regained his footing, using his free arm to wrap around Cas’ neck for purchase. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. Every bit of blood in his body was rushing to his groin, making it difficult to focus on things like words and coherent thought.

In an instant Cas’ hand was gone, but in its place was his entire pelvis, grinding against him and reminding Dean of what he learned about Cas’ size in the hallway. Feeling that massive length so close to his earned a sob out of Dean. Cas let Dean’s other wrist free, using both hands to place around his waist. His nose wandered the curve of Dean’s ear, followed by the slight intake of breath only heard due to proximity. Dean froze, determined to clearly hear whatever he was about to say.

“I want to suck your cock.”

Castiel’s diction was deliberate, complete with hard consonants and liquidy vowels that rolled together in the most delicious sentence Dean had ever heard. It was enough to liquify any remnants of his brain and make his core flutter with renewed want.

“I want you to come down my throat,” he continued. “I want you to fuck my face until you can’t come anymore.”

A helpless, high-pitched noise left Dean’s throat in response. It resembled a dog whining more than a man showing his enthusiasm for having someone choke on his dick, but it wasn’t his fault this was the first time he had been asked quite like this. Cas’ voice alone was good enough to be foreplay. Now he had all the touching and the grinding and… it was total sensory overload.

So yeah, he was a little overstimulated.

Cas pulled away far enough to look Dean in the face again. Realizing Cas was waiting for a real answer, he nodded his head heartily, heart doing backflips when Cas smiled in reply. He must’ve been smiling back at Cas, because he felt the air he breathed in pass his teeth, making his gums cold and drying his tongue. 

Life was so good. He was with Cas and they had made out like touch-starved fools, and now Cas was sinking to his knees…

_ Cas was sinking to his knees. _

“Fuck,” Dean hissed through gritted teeth. Cas was looking up at him as he went through the rote motions of unbuckling his belt and opening his pants. It was surreal tilting his head down towards his dick to see Cas’ wide blue eyes staring back at him, like something too good for his wildest dreams. It was impossible, and yet here he was, barely inside Castiel’s house and having his buttons and zipper undone by the man himself.

Cas’ eyes looked dead ahead for a moment before he glanced back up with a wide smile. “If I had known I was bringing the Dark Knight home with me, I would have made  mulligatawny soup instead of going out.”

Dean snorted a laugh, having forgotten about the Batman underwear. “A comic fan, huh?”

“Mm hmm.” Cas mouthed at Dean’s length through the fabric as he hummed.

Dean exhaled sharply at the vibrations, knees buckling underneath him. He fell forward, hands leaning on Cas’ broad shoulders, but the sturdy man barely moved. The arched position pushed his groin even farther into Cas’ face, and feeling the hot breath coupled with lips dancing across his length tantalized him further.

He really,  _ really  _ wanted to make a dick joke. With material sourced from Batman, it would have been easy.  _ You can uncape my crusader. This masked manhunter’s about to bust outta the Batcave.  _ Dean bit his tongue to hold back, and he was rewarded with the long-awaited sensation of his dick in the open air and Cas dragging his underwear down past his balls.

As it turned out, the short moment of distraction was needed. No sooner had Cas’ tongue made contact with the base of his dick than Dean realized just how pent up he really was. Touching himself was so, so different than having someone’s mouth on him. Not that he had forgotten; it had just been a while. 

He leaned back against the wall, fingers splaying out. “Aw hell,” he whimpered as Cas licked him from base to tip, then flattened his tongue against the sensitive spot right under the head. There was something about the combination of the downward position, a wet mouth, and all bodily contact withheld with the exception of the place desire burned the brightest. Dean loved it. Giving it, getting it, he didn’t give a damn. 

Sure, he loved getting his ass filled. He also loved being the one doing the fucking. He wasn’t picky. But there was something so incredibly hot about oral sex. Its intimacy was customizable: Want to stare into each other’s souls? There’s a position for that. Don’t want it overly intimate? That can be arranged. More than two people involved? Hello, spitroasting. Want to give and receive at the same time? Flip over and take it.

Cas sucked the tip and took short bobs up and down, taking in a little more each time. Dean knew he was a lot to take in and patiently waited, moaning at each new inch of Cas’ mouth his cock slid through. Cas made everything so wet and tight for him, a perfect hole made for fucking.

Dean glanced up to see the bouquet of flowers laid on the console table just across from him. It made him think about how outlandish their story would sound to someone from the outside. Computer support specialist — who, as it turns out, knows how to use his mouth for more than just giving verbal instructions — meets exotic healthcare aide by accident, use service calls for getting into each other’s pants from over the phone, and use dessert as an excuse to fuck.

It was borderline insane and yet it felt completely right.

The craving for release pumping through him spiked at the feel of his cock fully sheathed inside Castiel’s mouth. Dean was already on the verge of coming before his zipper went down. Now he was on pins and needles, his orgasm imminent. It was inevitable from the start, but Cas had pushed him past the point of no return with the squeeze of his throat and those unreal blue eyes looking up at him. They made it all too real, connecting the wet tightness around his cock with the person responsible. Dean gasped at the sight. This was more than someone sucking him off. This was sacred.

Cas worked up and down his length, sucking the air out of his cheeks, incorporating his tongue every time he pulled off enough to give attention to the head. Every ridge at the top his mouth and taste bud on his tongue lent texture against Dean. Every smooth movement made wet sounds, which served as another reminder of the pleasure he found in Castiel’s mouth. 

As he neared his end, Cas played with Dean’s balls and urged him even deeper. His cock was throbbing, so wet and well-indulged. As he felt his climax take him, he gritted his teeth and groaned, eyes smashed shut with one hand holding the back of Cas’ head steady. He couldn’t help the one thrust his hips insisted on, choking Cas. The sudden movement caused his throat to clamp around Dean’s cockhead, and the one last squeeze earned a broken yelp as he shot his load. His pulse could be felt in his cock, beating through the orgasm and waiting until he was satisfied before beginning to slow. 

Dean took his hand off of Cas’ head and slumped against the wall. His head felt light, his breaths struggled to stabilize. His ears were ringing. He was a wreck.  _ Cas had wrecked him. _

He let out a long huff. He blinked downward to see Cas licking his lips and tucking him back into his pants. Dean’s knees were weak, but he put all his weight on the wall so he could stay upright long enough for Cas to stand back up and meet his gaze. 

When they stood face to face again, Castiel’s expression was an inversion of Dean’s — focused, intent, composed — except, there was a fire behind those piercing eyes. He wanted to get his, that much was certain, but he also enjoyed having this control over himself and Dean.

Dean was keen on changing that steely smirk into moans of pleasure. He wanted to wipe that smugness right off Castiel’s face. He wanted to see him broken down, losing himself to the base desires of his body, with red cheeks and wild hair and whatever his eyes did when he came. Dean wanted all of it.

Looking down, Cas’ erection was painfully obvious, and he reached a hand towards it, but Cas stopped him. He held Dean’s wrist in his hand and shook his head. “Not yet,” he said.

Dean’s forehead scrunched in confusion. “What?” he puffed, gradually regaining control of his breathing.

Cas tilted his head coyly. “Pie first.”

He snorted a laugh, but rolled his eyes. “Right… pie.”

With a smile that sparked a twinkle in his eye, Cas removed his blazer and picked up the bouquet, heading into the kitchen. After a beat Dean followed, shaking his head at this strange, wonderful man. Cas had just rocked his world, and now they were going to go eat pie like nothing happened. And Cas was just bossy enough for Dean to fall in line without much pushback.

That was fine, for now. Dean would get him. Soon the tables would turn. Soon he would have Castiel Krushnic underneath him, coming completely undone, too drunk on Dean to form coherent sentences. And it was going to be awesome.

But first, pie.


	12. Led Zeppelin II: the love-making masterpiece

“The lockdowns are my fault,” Cas said abruptly.

It caught Dean off guard. “What?”

Cas had just plated the first slice of pie when he blurted out the confession. He scooped a spoonful of vanilla ice cream beside the pie slice and set it at Dean’s place at the table. Next he cut a slice for himself, got out a new spoon for his helping of ice cream, and put the tub away before sitting beside him. He acted so casual about it, like they were talking about the weather.

Cas’ kitchen was a bit dated, but much larger than Dean’s. The floors were an awful red and white tile with cabinets that looked painted white over red. It was most likely Cas just didn’t feel like overhauling an entire kitchen, but couldn’t bear to bake in a kitchen that resembled an old-fashioned barber shop. The table was nice, and one of the only pieces of furniture in the room: a small but sturdy square table in a nook with benches in the corner. The setup was meant for no more than two, and one of the benches was more worn than the other.

He took a forkful of pie and dragged it into the ice cream, then took a bite. “I know you must hate not being able to use your cell phone at  _ Felix Mori  _ in the moments immediately following an emergency.”

“Well yeah,” Dean said in the middle of a mouthful. Castiel’s homemade pie was a thousand times better than anything he had tasted from the store. None of that chemically-aftertaste and dime-a-dozen crust. This stuff was the shit. “I understand not calling to save a resident’s life when they’re in friggin hospice. But I’d still like to have the option. It’s just kinda… excessive.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Nobody likes it,” Cas sighed. “It’s a broad solution for a narrow problem.”

“Then why the hell does Gabriel use it?”

Finishing another bite, Cas took a long exhale through his nose and shifted in his seat. Dean sat back on the bench. He might as well get comfortable.

“Most of the calls I received when I worked at the safety building were not emergencies, even though people used the emergency line to reach us. Cats in trees, complaints about traffic, asking when their power would come back on after a storm… those sorts of things. All technically abuse of the line, but usually I just answered their questions and went on my way. It was important not to dedicate too much time on a non-emergency call, because it held up the lines that needed to stay open for actual emergencies.”

“I’m with you so far,” Dean said before a giant forkful of pie and ice cream. “This is amazing.”

“Thank you. My center was always understaffed, making the time dedicated to petty calls even more dangerous. One night we were swamped. There were three accidents across the county, faulty traffic lights, and people calling in about the usual troubles… larcenies, domestics, you know, just another Tuesday. But we had callers actually on hold for 911.”

Dean stopped mid-chew. “Yikes.”

“I got a call from a sweet old lady who calls about three times a week. Every time she tells us somebody broke into her home and stole her glasses.”

He wanted to laugh, but Cas’ tone had switched over to something more tense.

“And every time, they’re either on the kitchen counter, by the remote in the living room, or on her head. All of us at the center knew the drill. She, however, was a bit senile, and never learned how to just look by herself. She would immediately call, all upset that she had been ‘robbed’ and every time we would calm her down, and stay on the phone to suggest the usual spots. It was somewhat of a routine.”

Dean finally swallowed his bite. The direction of this story was beginning to dawn on him.

“I got off the phone with her as fast as I could, I swear…”

Something had happened to Cas’ eyes. He was looking somewhere far away, as if the scene was playing out right in front of him, yet too far away for anyone else to reach. Dean placed his hand on Cas’ as a small gesture of comfort. Cas looked down at their layered hands before continuing.

“Half the time I was talking to her, my red light was flashing, meaning another call was on hold. As soon as I hung up I picked up the next call. It was a woman in labor, lying in her car on the side of the road.”

Dean squeezed Castiel’s hand. He was starting to show signs of distress, and it was unsettling. This Cas was nervous, jumpy, and withdrawn, almost like when they first started talking on the phone. However this story ended, it was clear how much it had affected him. This was the Cas touched by a tragedy. This was the man he grew to love.

_ Love? _

“She was on her way to the hospital. She gave me her location and I sent out an ambulance right away. I stayed on the line with her. Her contractions were close together before I got to her call. After a few questions it became obvious that this baby wasn’t waiting for the ambulance and I had to give birthing instructions over the phone.”

Cas hadn’t finished the story, but something about the way his words faded out near the end made Dean’s heart drop. With his unoccupied hand Cas rubbed his forehead, looking down in shame.

“And they were the birthing instructions of the century,” Dean stated. “I know you did your best, Cas.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

Sorrow draped like a blanket over them. The air was thick with it, and for the first time, Dean felt the immense guilt Cas must have been carrying with him for all these years. Now he knew. Now he understood why Cas could never let his guard down. Because nobody could ever see  _ this.  _ The woman in labor who stayed on hold for just a few minutes too long was his greatest failure. He was her lifeline and _ he failed her. _

“It’s not your fault, Cas. You know that, right?”

“I told her how to breathe. I told her how to push. I told her to keep making noises so I knew she was still with me. After one agonizing scream, she fell into silence. I kept saying her name, over and over. I stayed on the line, hoping she had just dropped the phone or something. Six minutes later the EMTs showed. She didn’t make it.”

Dean swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat.

“Do you know how long my non-emergency call lasted with the old lady who lost her glasses.”

Wincing, Dean forced himself to look into Cas’ pained stare. “Six minutes?”

“Six. Minutes.”

He shook his head slowly. This whole situation was awful no matter how he sliced it. Both parties underwent unfathomable trauma that day; one went home and the other did not. The one that lived had to live with the memory of her screams in his ear as the last sounds she ever made. Something like that was bound to wear someone down.

He blinked at Cas’ harrowing expression. This was a man that had stayed strong for too damn long. He sat in a chair and remained unnervingly calm as the world in his headset went to shit. He had to; it was the job. And somewhere along the way, those things began eating away at him, and he began to sink further into himself, where he could be damaged without damaging anyone else. Where he could be cold and standoffish and not hurt anyone.

“The child lived,” he finished, clanking his fork on the plate absently. “I adopted him.”

The tiniest of smiles peeped across Dean’s cheek. “Jack.”

Cas nodded. 

Dean scooted out of his chair and bent down, gathering Cas in his arms. At first Cas went stiff, but let out a heavy breath as he relaxed into Dean’s embrace. He brought his arms up to Dean’s back, hugging him back. It wasn’t a comfortable way to hug, but that wasn’t important now. Dean felt him shudder for a second, followed by a sniff. 

“Hey,” Dean whispered, pulling away to see a very teary-eyed Cas, and squeezed his shoulders. “You’ve been mister tough guy for long enough.”

All the pent up remorse from eighteen years of stone cold silence came off in waves. Dean could feel it in the tears that stained Cas’ cheeks. In the way his chest heaved and breaths quivered. In the way he leaned back into the crook of Dean’s neck and clung to his shirt. There in his arms, all that Cas had internalized came to the surface.

Dean held him, thumbs rubbing in soothing motions as they both sat wordlessly. There were no words for right now. All at once, everything about Cas made sense. The way he reeled back from getting personal for so long. The way he could emotionally cut himself off at the drop of a hat. The thing Gabriel said about him “getting better” ever since Dean started making tech calls. This wasn’t about getting Cas out of his shell. This was about healing. And words were inadequate for something that deep.

It would take longer than they had tonight to work through all the nuanced quirks put there by Cas’ trauma. Years of therapy, probably. It was too much work for one night together, but Dean was willing to start, and to see it through to the end. As proven just minutes prior, he knew hardly anything about Cas, but this much he did know: he was sticking around. Dean saw the mess and he wanted in. Cas had helped begin the work of patching up an old wound, and now Dean saw his opportunity to do the same and he was taking it.

They had a long road ahead. It wasn’t going to be all rainbows and cupcakes, either. And it was so much more than hooking up with the hot guy in IT. But Dean was a hundred percent in.

“I stayed with the county for several more years,” Cas said quietly, against Dean’s shoulder. “But I was turning into someone I didn’t even recognize. Gabriel saw it. He suggested I go back to school and try something else, so I took his advice.”

“Then you graduated and got into the family business.”

Cas nodded, moving his hands from Dean’s chest to around his neck. “It helped to get away from life-or-death emergencies. But the first time I spoke to you,” he huffed a small laugh, the first sign of mirth since he uncovered the pie. “It was like the sun coming back out after years of nothing but clouds.”

Warmth bloomed in Dean’s center. He bit his lip to keep from making a self-deprecating joke to balance out the praise. It was the most moving thing anyone ever said about him and he didn’t know how to handle that. 

“Gabriel saw firsthand what clogged up phone lines have the capability of doing,” Cas concluded. “I told him the measures he put in place were excessive, and that my situation was atypical. But by now you know what he says about family ties.”

“Close knit, looking out for each other, the whole nine.”

Dean had been carefully gauging Cas’ voice for the duration of their time in each other’s arms. By now he sounded much more settled, so Dean gently pulled away, keeping Cas’ arms cradled in his so there wouldn’t be a total loss of contact. Cas seemed to appreciate it, and fidgeted with the sleeves rolled up around Dean’s elbows. When he looked up his eyes were slightly bloodshot but blue as ever, with a relaxed smile.

“All that and you’re staying?” Cas questioned, his voice cracking at the end. “After hearing what a… what a…”

“What a what? You think you’re a fuck-up or something?” Cas nodded at Dean’s abridgment, to which Dean cocked an objecting eyebrow. “I think it’s safe to say we’re both a little fucked up.”

Cas took in a cleansing breath, fingers dragging away from Dean’s sleeves as he sat up straight against the nook wall. The light drag prickled Dean’s skin, and he looked down at Cas’ hands as they moved down his arms. When they reached his hands Dean took them in his own and gave a soft squeeze.

“We can be fucked up together,” Cas suggested.

Dean nodded, looking down at their joined hands. “I like the sound of that.”

So it was decided. Neither of them had scared the other off. It really was turning out to be the perfect night.

They were comfortable there, in each other’s space but barely touching. It grounded them to the present and to each other, settled them into an unhurried headspace that was as peaceful as it was thrilling. It fueled something within their bones that included more than just the need to touch and be touched. They were breaking previously impenetrable ground, guarded carefully by their own fear and self-preservation.

And as they sat there digesting each other’s troubles, they realized that they didn’t need to keep the walls so high anymore. Not around each other. Here, they could give themselves some slack. Here, they were safe.

“Hmm,” Cas hummed suddenly, brows crinkling in thought.

“What?”

“Go get the records from your car.”

“Uh, okay,” Dean mumbled as he stood up, reluctantly letting go of Cas’ hands. What Cas could possibly want with the old things was beyond him, but the guy did technically buy them, and Dean had a feeling of what the surprise could be. When he returned inside with the three LPs he was delighted to see his suspicions were correct.

“I got it at a yard sale this summer,” Cas boasted, standing beside the vintage wooden turntable. He had placed it on the coffee table in the living room. To the side stood an equally old speaker with grill cloth beginning to fray from wear. “Everything is in working condition, I made sure of it before I, uh…”

“Dude,” Dean exclaimed. “This is totally badass. I can’t believe somebody parted with this.”

“I haven’t used it since I brought it home. You could try it out with one of yours? If you want to.”

Glancing up from the turntable and across to Cas, Dean swallowed down a daddy issues-sized lump in his throat, because  _ both of them knew what Cas was implying.  _ He was giving Dean one last chance to go back on the progress he had made so far. He was giving Dean permission to stay angry. The choice was his, and whatever Dean decided, Cas was going to support him.

The gesture was more full of grace than anyone had ever handled him, and although it was foreign to have his wishes so respected, he only had to think about it for a second.

He slipped Led Zeppelin II out of its jacket. “Get ready to rock.”

Cas watched as he placed the record on the spindle and chose the speed. As soon as Dean switched it to “on” and that staticy hum rang through the speaker, they glanced up at each other with giddy smiles. Dean dropped the needle and after a scratchy blip it settled on a height. The record was spinning. The air was thick with expectancy. And after a few short seconds, the opening riff of Whole Lotta Love blared through the speaker.

The sound was slightly muffled from all the dust but it was enough to hit Dean right in the nostalgia. He took a step back and closed his eyes as the bass came in, tapping his foot to the beat. “You need coolin’, baby I’m not foolin’,” blasted through, as unapologetic as Robert Plant’s voice came.

By the time Bonzo laid in on the drums, Dean was beginning to nod his head in time with the music. He opened his eyes to see Cas at the console table, placing the bouquet in a water-filled vase. Cas’ rigorous welcome into his home had squished a couple of blooms, but they had otherwise held up against the rough handling. Cas would see them every time he walked in and out of his home. They could also be seen from the living room and part of the kitchen.

“Didn’t take you as a classic rock fan,” Dean said above the music.

Cas finished primping the flowers and walked back into the living room. “I enjoy what I hear on the radio. Claire is much more knowledgeable on the subject. I plan on giving her the record player for her birthday, as she wants to start a music collection. She says having digital copies feels too fake.”

“I feel that,” Dean agreed. “There’s something about analog that all this digital bullcrap doesn’t have.”

“I can certainly see the appeal of that, as opposed to something you can’t touch.”

Dean looked down at Cas’ hand and took it in his. “Speaking of which.” He gave Cas a gentle tug, pulling him into his space. 

Cas laughed nervously. “I can’t dance.”

“I didn’t say I could, either. Rock is less about technique and more about feeling, anyway.”

“Feeling, you say? Hmm.”

Cas had shot up an eyebrow at the proposal, which hit Dean as more suggestive than perhaps intended. It was too late to backtrack, as he was already red in the face, so he just glanced to the side and bit his lip to keep from grinning like an idiot. Here Cas was, doing stuff to him again. Weren’t they spilling their guts to each other like, fifteen minutes ago? 

It was so strange to find enough comfort in someone to be this honest. Today they had told each other things neither had told anyone, ever. Feelings, thoughts, emotions… all buried deep and safely guarded. And now here they were, in the air between them. Exposed, but somehow, still safe. 

Vulnerability was not something Dean gave freely, that much was obvious after his decades of shoving it. Not to his brother, boss, or his freaking wax lady. Nothing against them; he was just picky. His circle was small to begin with. Objectively, being this way with Cas should have scared him shitless. But it didn’t.

It was uncomfortable, yes. But it didn’t feel dangerous. 

“These lyrics are highly sexual,” Cas observed.

Understatement. Beginning on this album, the band began the habit of starting out their albums with something graphically erotic. Because there’s nothing like starting out with a song about Robert’s penis.

_ Way down inside _

_ I’m gonna give you my love _

_ I’m gonna give you every inch of my love _

_ I’m gonna give you my love _

_ Hey! _

_ Alright, let’s go _

_ Whole lotta love… _

This truly was the perfect album. It rocked in the best sense of the word. Starting out with the heavy bass and quick riffs of the first track, it set the mood and got the blood flowing. In a few seconds “What Is and What Should Never Be” would start out deceivingly slow, almost ballad-like, and suddenly take off during the chorus. Dean was certain before now Page designed the album to make love to, but he would gladly put that theory to work tonight.

Love. There was that word again.

“You feelin’ it?” Dean asked to Cas’ face, lifting his own insinuating brows with a smug leer.

The way they danced — if one could call it that — was nothing if not teasing. The way their hips swayed with the tempo would be full-on grinding if they were actually touching. The song seemed to call for it: so close, so wanting, but staying just a couple inches short, lest the lyrics have their way with them. Their only point of contact was the hand Dean was still holding, but not tightly. 

The first track served as a taste-test of sorts between two lovers. Is the spark there? Are we interested?

The obvious answer to both being an enthusiastic yes.

The lazy fade-out sputtered out a short second or two of static, followed by the mellow drone of Robert’s voice, all by itself, singing “And if I say to you tomorrow…” The soft addition of snare drum and the infamous Gibson Les Paul came in next. The combination offered a tender introduction, and at the lyrics’ suggestion to “Take my hand child, come with me,” Cas laced his fingers with Dean’s.

Gradually, their hands assumed comfortable positions on each other throughout the verse. Cas curled his fingers over Dean’s shoulder, and Dean slipped his hand around Cas’ waist, a silent agreement to come closer. The consensus was perfect, as the abrupt change in music tone was just a beat away. If Dean was going to introduce Cas to the wonderful world of rock, he was doing it the right way.

_ Catch the wind, see us spin _

_ Sail away leave today _

_ Way up high in the sky, hey, woah _

_ But the wind won’t blow _

_ You really shouldn’t go _

_ It only goes to show _

The drums ushered in Robert’s shrill change of pitch, and the entire song switched from sweet ditty to a rough thrash with wave after wave of intensity. Dean led the way by moving them apart, hand still intertwined with Cas’, then pulled them back together, their bodies now flush. The abrupt change in pace, both musical and bodily, earned a small gasp out of Cas, but he was also smiling.

Continuing to move their bodies to the music, Dean pressed the small of Cas’ back until their hips were tight against each other. The chorus was beginning to slow, and would soon roll lazily into another verse. The song was unexpectedly sexy, even though Dean had heard it a thousand times. Their sudden closeness offered the chance to move away once the ballad-feel returned. This song was the first move after dancing around each other. It was the flirty pawing before the heavy stuff. One last gauge of interest before really going for it.

Yet as “That you will be mine, by taking our time” rolled over the vinyl grooves, they did not move apart. Their bodies remained closely pressed together as the second verse ushered in the original slow pace, and they swayed to the music. They followed each other’s movements, unwilling to give up an inch, refusing to separate their bodies even a little.

Cas’ hand cupped Dean’s neck, holding them nose to nose. Dean’s spare hand roamed up Cas’ back, knuckles brushing against toned muscle through thin t-shirt fabric. He could have sworn he felt Cas shudder under the feather-light touch, but when Cas’ grip between his fingers tightened, his suspicions were confirmed. The vote was unanimous.

The rest of the song came and went, but neither really noticed. Dean had started smiling at some point, followed by Cas dropping his eyes to Dean’s mouth. The record became merely background noise to the beats of their hearts, now so close they could feel each other’s pulses. They sang faster as their gazes, once dancing across lips, crept up to each other’s eyes. It was as if their hearts were getting a head start in anticipation of what the rest of their bodies knew was to come.

“I think I know what you mean by feeling,” Cas said, hushed and close enough to feel Dean’s heat. “It’s about doing what feels right.”

Next up was the Lemon Song, starting up heavy and bluesy like the carnal confession it was. Dean untangled their fingers to cradle Cas’ cheek in his hand. “Does this feel right?”

Cas nodded, eyes locking with Dean’s before both of them finally snapped. Their mouths smashed together, hungry kisses punctuated by huffs and tiny gasps. Cas tugged at Dean’s shirt, close as could be but never close enough, while Dean pressed and pulled at Cas’ back and the vast expanse of his broad shoulders. 

While the previous song was tentative and well-mannered, this one was rough, ungentlemanly. Not the song you brought home to mother. Up to this point they had retained their manners, oh but now? This was fuck-him-against-the-wall music, with all the thrumming lust pumping through their veins to match. 

Dean smiled against the mouth licking into his. Cas was grappling at the center of his shirt, likely searching for buttons. Dean gave a teasing roll of his hips just to push Cas a little closer to ruin. It worked, although not just on Cas’ end. Both of them moaned at the first hint of their erections nudging against each other, starting an inelegant rhythm. Now that they had a taste, only continuing forward would satisfy. There was no turning back, no further denying the hunger between them.

Next thing he knew, Cas had stopped kissing him, but it was only so he could see what his fingers were doing. Dean marvelled at the sight. Cas was panting, eyes fixed on each button and at one time chapped lips now slick with spit. His perfect composure was faltering so rapidly he didn’t even notice Dean’s smug grin. Whatever control he once had over his face, he was losing it, and Dean couldn’t look away for one second.

“Oh my god,” Cas breathed after the last button was released. He shoved the fabric down his sleeves, faced at last with every inch of skin the shirt once covered. 

Dean shrugged out of the sleeves, chuckling lightly at Cas’ wandering eyes. He didn’t even think to pull any sexy stripper moves until the shirt dropped to the floor. He could give Cas a private show down the road. For now, he was enjoying the way Cas watched his frontal muscles move, like he wanted to bend down and lick each and every one. Dean wished he would. But for now, he needed to even the lack-of-clothes score.

Cas had already seen Dean with nothing on but some sequined shorts. It was entirely unfair that Dean hadn’t seen as much as Cas’ collarbone up to this point. It was high time to change that.

Taking off Cas’ shirt was a lot easier than his had been. In the span of a few seconds Dean went from Dean testing the waters with his fingers under Cas’ hem, to pulling the t-shirt over his head. It was effortless, so much in fact that the resulting sight nearly knocked the wind out of him.

“Holy shit,” Dean mumbled.

His eyes instinctively landed to a pair of sharp hip bones that angled against a well-built stomach. Dean’s mouth began to water. Dear heaven above, that “V” his hip bones made. They made him stupid. They made him want to lay Cas out and trace the downward curve with his tongue.

And if that wasn’t enough, Cas had abs. Full-fledged, model-worthy, six-pack of rock hard  _ abs.  _ Like some kind of pipe dream. Dean’s next inhale shook. This guy was fucking  _ ripped.  _ What the hell were they feeding him at the tech center?

As if all those things weren’t enough, Cas had pecs for days. Dean could bounce a couple of quarters off those things. Could, but wouldn’t. He had other plans.

Following the lines and curves of Cas’ body, Dean’s gaze lingered at his arms next. They looked even more delectable without a shirt hiding those rippling muscles. Dean’s heart fluttered at the thought of those arms holding him down, and his immobility against the wall earlier that evening began to make sense. 

It was hard to tell the full extent of Cas’ form under a blazer or unflattering company polo. But now… now Dean had to deal with the fact that Cas was a friggin’ beefcake. What the hell was he supposed to do with this information? His brain short-circuited trying to imagine all the things he wanted to  _ do  _ to this man. Where would he begin? The list of kissable body parts was too long. Every inch of skin screamed for his mouth, his hands, his dick, and he had every intention of answering.

_ Squeeze me baby, ‘til the juice runs down my leg _

_ The way you squeeze my lemon, I _

_ I’m gonna fall right out of bed _

The Lemon Song reached its crescendo as the two found their hands wrapped around each other once more, this time with Dean’s mouth diligently locked onto Cas’ neck. The suction earned a frustrated groan out of Cas, and Dean felt fingers grabbing at his hair and holding his head in place. Their gripping hands roamed, their hips rolled against each other, and it was all too much and not enough at the same time. 

All this, and their pants were still on. Cas held onto Dean’s neck as he dipped back in surrender to the sensation of Dean trailing his tongue down his clavicle. Dean’s hands, which had been on the small of Castiel’s back to continue grinding them together, drifted to the front, between them, and cupped around Cas’ hard-on. 

The touch elicited an interested gasp from Cas, who leaned into the touch, and the thought crossed Dean’s mind that he might actually be dreaming. Having this, having Cas, squirming under his touch and losing his composure was the most beautiful sight he had ever witnessed. More stunning than a sunset or thunderstorm or the freaking Grand Canyon, because this was just for him. He had yearned for it, and worked for it, and now it was  _ his.  _ Cas was his.

Dean’s typically dexterous fingers floundered with Cas’ button and fly before it hit him that maybe this was affecting him just as much. The thought was frightening but distantly soothing. He couldn’t explain it, especially in such a lust-crazed state of mind, but it felt right. Like after so many years of not having a true home, he was finding one.

Cas stepped out of his pants once Dean shoved them down as far as he could from a standing position. Dean stepped back enough for Cas to get an eyeful, and began removing the rest of his own clothes. The movements were more jagged than was typical for someone who got naked for a living, but he chalked it up to nerves and laughed it off.

“Usually I charge for this,” he told Cas with a witty smirk.

The handsome man across from him followed each slide and glide of Dean’s hands with undivided attention. It seemed like he was holding his breath, so still and attentive, waiting patiently for Dean’s pants to fall. Deciding that Cas deserved a two-for-one, Dean slipped his fingers under his underwear as well slid both garments down, down, down, watching Cas’ entranced eyes the whole time.

Castiel’s gaze consumed him slowly, like he was copying and pasting every detail into his memory bank. His eyes crawled upwards across Dean’s body, starting with his engorged cock and ending eye to eye. It felt so completely opposite of what he felt when strangers stared at him. Their hungry eyes had nothing on Cas, who looked at him with such adoration beyond being seen as a hot piece of ass and nothing else. Being sexualized was something that stopped bothering Dean years ago, else he wouldn’t have stayed in the industry. But this look Cas gave him was like a refreshing ocean wave in the desert. He felt Cas  _ seeing  _ him — as a  _ person.  _ He felt appreciated. He felt loved.

Huh. Maybe he shouldn’t be so afraid of that word, after all.

_ He’s definitely getting a private show later on,  _ Dean thought to himself. And he smiled.  _ Later on.  _ Insinuating that they had something. That this would last. But maybe it would. Maybe Dean really was home.

“Your turn,” he said with a nod towards the underwear unfairly still on Cas. 

The sputter of dusty static interrupted the short silence between songs. Cas looked down dashfully, but obliged as the final tune on side one of Led Zeppelin II began to play. The song was soft, beginning as a whisper, and perhaps entirely too intimate so soon into their relationship. But it didn’t feel that way. The words that seemed so unattainable throughout his years listening, suddenly seemed possible. 

_ If the sun refused to shine _

_ I would still be loving you _

_ When mountains crumble to the sea _

_ There will still be you and me _

Dean’s breath caught in his throat as Cas slipped his underwear off, cock bouncing into the open air. He was being so damn nonchalant about it, like he wasn’t showing off the piece of him that was every bit as gorgeous as the rest of him, yet remained uncovered the majority of the time in the name of public decency. That was some bullshit right there. 

Castiel’s cock was mouthwatering. It inspired all manner of filthy thoughts, as well as a tiny sliver of healthy fear. Dean could feel his own asshole tremble at the thought of that massive thing breaching it, splitting him wide open and pumping him full of delicious spend.  _ Cas really was huge.  _ Dean questioned his ability to take someone his size, especially after his little practice session with the intimidating dildo back home. Cas made that toy look like child’s play.

“God, Cas,” Dean breathed, eyes finally meeting his again. Cas stepped into Dean’s space, silencing any further commentary with a searing kiss. He backed them up against the couch, toppling Dean over and landing on top of him in an undignified heap.

It wasn’t like gracefulness was the goal anyway. 

Dean gasped and groaned with every twist of their bodies. Here they were, a mess of naked tangled limbs, growing more hungry with every twitch of their dicks and slide of their hands. Cas’ fingers left a trail of fire on his skin, igniting nerve endings he had forgotten about. They kept moving all over his body, never stopping, never satiated. Dean found his arms around Cas as they kissed, wordlessly begging  _ more, please, closer, I need more of you.  _

“Dean,” Cas heaved, his first words since shirts started coming off.

They might have caused frustration by stopping the deep kiss, but all was forgiven when Dean felt a strong hand take his cock. The hot, tight contact pulled a breathy moan out of him, and he found himself the one rendered speechless, now.

Cas was jerking him deliberately slow, taking the time to learn him — his curvature, length and width. The exact spot that left him breathless. How tight he liked it and at what point. How crazy it made him when he was getting close, cock pulsing with need and tip so red it looked angry.

On his back, Dean could think of nothing else to do than hold Cas’ broad shoulders and take it. If he was any bit more coherent, he might have taken Cas in hand, stroking down on the thick shaft, or perhaps scooted down enough to blow him. But no, Dean’s entire body was in shock, and his arms flailed helplessly around Cas as they noisily breathed each other’s air.

The mellow song played on, oblivious to the heat between them. It lulled on as they dug desperate fingers across each other’s skin, pressing, pushing, pulling. It sang of all-encompassing kindness between two humans, finding inspiration in each other that spanned a lifetime, and unfailing love.

And it seemed so blasphemous to hear such things in their current position, at first. Because for so long, Dean had equated feelings of carnal hunger with being detached. Uncommitted. Closed-off and invulnerable. But maybe it wasn’t wrong to feel both ways. Maybe he could have his pie and eat it, too.

Being with Cas made healing sound like a great idea. He also made Dean want to ball all day, until he physically could not come, whether from sheer exhaustion or emptying himself so completely. But maybe those two things weren’t mutually exclusive.

If Dean was reading his own signals correctly, he could have both. The thought made him sigh with relieved contentedness.

_ And so today, my world it smiles _

_ Your hand in mine, we walk the miles _

_ Thanks to you it will be done _

_ For you to me are the only one _

_ Happiness, no more be sad _

_ Happiness, I’m glad _

Cas released one of his hands to reach around his neck. Dean was still holding on there, but let go to interlace their fingers. Cas’ fingers were a tad shorter than his, but thicker, and the way they stretched the webbing between his own felt so new, so fresh. 

“Always wanted someone to sing this song to,” Dean mused like a helpless sap.

“What’s it called?” Cas asked.

Dean swallowed, the answer coming with a smile that he sincerely couldn’t help tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Thank You.”

And like he could read Dean’s mind of what would sweep him off his feet, Cas brought his hand up and kissed Dean’s knuckles. “I like it,” he said against the back of Dean’s hand.

Damn, but sweet shit like that always made Dean swoon. What could he say? He had to make up for the hair-pulling kink somehow.

Castiel’s low chuckle tore his attention back to the present. “What?”

“You’re blushing,” Cas replied with one fist still moving up and down Dean’s shaft.

“Shaddup.”

The hand around his cock tightened. Dean huffed and threw his head back. Right now he couldn’t tell if Cas was planning on doing him quick and dirty or drawing it out like the composed gentleman he was. As much as Dean wanted this moment to never end, he wanted to see Cas come undone  _ more. _

“We aren’t going to make it to the bed, are we?” Cas mused.

Oh, this would never do. Cas was far too cognizant for Dean’s liking. Thankfully, Dean was present enough in his own head to make the decision to unwrap his spare hand from around Cas’ neck and wrap it around his cock. He watched himself as his fingers formed an “O” around the width of it, as fully as he could with a member that large. 

He looked back up to see Cas squinting his eyes shut with an open-mouthed huff. The hand once gripping Dean’s cock had fallen slack. Cas’ other hand, still holding Dean’s, alternated between squeezing and loosening, unconsciously responding to each ministration Dean dealt to Cas’ dick. Seeing Cas begin to lose control was like a drug to Dean. He grinned, watching the man above him falter, but he needed more.

Dean released Cas’ hand and shimmied downward until his face was even with the buff chest above him. He gave one of Cas’ nipples a flat-tongued lick, and nearly shouted in triumph as Cas’ knees and shoulders gave out. The man bordered on collapsing on him — exactly what Dean wanted — at the warm, wet touch of tongue to skin.

Cas barely caught himself, regaining balance on shaking limbs while his breathing turned heavy and tonal. Side one was long over and the sounds Cas made were the most beautiful music Dean had ever heard. With every flick of his tongue, Cas lost himself a little bit more. All the while Dean continued stroking his fat, heavy cock, urging him closer and closer to the edge. Closer and closer to total havoc of his infuriatingly collected demeanor.

“Dean, oh god,” Cas whispered as Dean put the other nipple in his mouth. 

He smiled against the hardening bud. Cas was thrusting into Dean’s hand now, any semblance of etiquette lost on him now that he was chasing his end. Dean could feel the blood pulsating through Cas’ cock, hot and fast and needy, a match to the rest of the man repeating his name and murmured swears.

“Dean… I’m… fuck.”

Cas’ head slumped forward, and Dean took the opportunity to turn the tables. It was now or never. With his hands wrapped around Cas, he shoved himself up and around. The quick motion took Cas by surprise but he was too far gone to protest. On his back he laid, at last able to surrender to the pleasure and take what Dean gave him, all the while flustered and gorgeous against the couch pillows with mussed hair and pink cheeks.

He was getting close. His breathing quickened and he gritted his teeth, writhing under Dean’s touch. Intent on enveloping him as much as possible, Dean wrapped both hands around Cas’ cock and squeezed, down and back up in quick succession, tighter under the head, earning every approving groan Cas had to give. 

Dean stared unblinking as Cas’ eyes widened and took in a hefty gulp of air, body going stiff for a split second before coming. He was beautiful, shooting ropes of spend between them, enraptured in the climax Dean brought him to. His chest heaved, his cerulean blue eyes glazed over in relief and satiation. His voice was hoarse from so much huffing and puffing drying his throat out. 

Dean could not possibly look away from it.

Cas twitched underneath him twice as he emptied himself into Dean’s hands, then went boneless against the couch. His breaths were heavy puffs of air, evening out gradually as his muscles unclenched in a post-orgasm haze. Dean watched every single move in enrapturement. He loved every second of it. The way Cas focused on nothing in particular when he came; the way his brows unknitted once he was utterly spent.

This man lying under him — this was the Cas he wanted to know intimately. Vulnerable, undone, and not pretending to have it all together. He adored the Cas he knew, of course, with all his domineering projections and _ I’ve-got-this-shit-handled  _ attitude. But Dean knew that wasn’t all there was to him — seeing him like this was proof of that fact — and he wanted it all.

Once Cas’ cock finally stopped thrumming beneath his fingers, Dean released him. At last he allowed his gaze to fall, inspecting the mess of come all over Cas’ toned lower belly and Dean’s own hands. They were a mess, and it made Dean swell with pride a little bit. He stood up, ignoring his own disregarded member, to search for a hand towel or tissue box.

“What about you?” Cas asked, his shaking voice still not recovered from the high. He cleared his throat in an effort to correct it.

“You gave me a blowjob as soon as he walked in the door, remember?”

Cas smiled. “Yes, Dean. I do recall that. I just mean —”

“Raincheck?” Dean suggested with a wink.

He held his breath for the answer. He knew what he was insinuating. It was always an awkward conversation to have after a date, especially when it involved getting each other off. The subject of “date number two” — or “round number two” at the least — could either be filled with uncomfortable silence — as was Dean’s fear, after an unsatisfying dating past — or the answer he was hoping Cas would give.

And once again, Cas came through. The man was like a dream come to life. “It would be my pleasure.”

Dean let out the breath he was holding. Cas wanted him.  _ Again.  _ He could have jumped for joy, but… semen.

“Uh, you got a towel, or…?”

Cas lifted a limp hand to point Dean in the right direction. “Linen closet is just off the kitchen.”

He found the hand towels without issue. The kitchen still smelled like pie, which made him smile as he walked back through it on his way to and from the linen closet. The place might have been plain, but it was comfortably homey. There was a scuff mark on the wall leading to the bathroom, a set of keys and an empty chapstick tube cluttering the counter, and other piddly things that made it charmingly lived in.

He wondered if he would ever be homey like this.

On his way back through the kitchen, he did a double take at the hallway in which he had just found the closet. Beside the linen closet there was a bathroom, and beside that was a large bedroom with a queen sized bed. Across from that, two small rooms sat side by side, both with lights off and doors open, empty of all except basic bedroom furniture, with one more decorated than the other.

Dean came back into the living room with two hand towels and playfully tossed one onto Cas’ head. “Do the kiddos still live at home? Shit, that probably came out wrong.”

“I found no offense,” Cas defended as he wiped himself off. “Claire has her own place and invites Jack over frequently. I can understand them preferring each other’s company to that of mine. I suppose they both consider me ‘old’ and ‘uncool.’”

Dean nodded as he wiped his hands. That explained the one decorated bedroom. 

“I might have encouraged Claire to take Jack away this time,” Cas confessed slowly. “Having you over would have looked very different with Jack here.”

Brows shooting up, Dean guffawed and took Cas’ soiled towel. “You sent your youngest away with your oldest… so you could get laid?”

Cas looked everywhere but directly at Dean and nodded. 

The chuckle vibrating in Dean’s throat turned to all-out laughter. He turned his back to Cas, partly to start looking for his underwear, and partly to try and get himself under control. Castiel Krushnic, mister cool-calm-and-collected, was thinking with his dick that night. He really emptied his house to get some. That was straight out of Dean’s book of best tricks! 

Dean might have fallen in love.

After finding his clothes, he looked back around to see Cas already in his underwear and black t-shirt, lifting the record player gingerly to put it back in whatever room he was hiding it in for Claire. He had laid Dean’s Zeppelin album against the couch, sleeved and vertical like a civilized human being.

He had zero intentions of going home that night, folding his clothes so they wouldn’t be wrinkled in the morning and draping his Batman underwear over his shoulder. Unless Cas kicked him out, he planned on staying. Nothing against his own bed, but even after nutting inside Cas’ mouth and watching him come all over himself, Dean couldn’t get enough. 

He wanted to fall asleep and wake up beside him, see his tired morning face, and kiss him until he grumbled something about coffee and stinky breath. With every taste he got he wanted  _ more  _ — more disgustingly cute domesticity, more talk of mundane adult things, more  _ Cas.  _ He wanted it all.

Cas came back in with an unopened pink toothbrush and a travel sized tube of toothpaste. He handed them to Dean. “Are you working tomorrow?”

“Nope,” Dean replied, taking the items.

“Me neither. Let’s go to bed.”

Dean’s heart did a backflip as he followed Cas into the bathroom. He didn’t miss the occasional look Cas gave to his naked form as they brushed their teeth, or the small smile Cas couldn’t hide behind the way his toothbrush tugged against his cheeks. Dean supposed it was kind of odd wandering someone’s house ass-crack naked, but sue him, he was comfortable in his skin.

“I keep an extra toothbrush,” Cas said after spitting, “in case Claire ever needs to stay over.”

That explained the pink. Not that Dean minded pink. Quite on the contrary, in fact. Some of his favorite work duds were various shades of fuschia, magenta, and rose.

“You think of everything,” he noted with a mouthful of toothpaste before spitting.

“I’m a dad, Dean. It’s in the job description.”

Wiping his face, the fact of how far removed he was of having to think that way hit him full-force. Cas was a father, and a good one at that, and it made Dean reflect on the possibility that he was in over his head. He didn’t know shit about raising kids; his own dad didn’t exactly give him a five-star template to follow.

What if Jack didn’t like Dean? Shit, what if Claire already didn’t like him? He was kind of an asshole at work. Though, to be fair, so was she. 

Regardless of how Castiel’s children might react to them being together, Dean’s fears mounted. What if he made a sad excuse for a step-dad? And why was he even letting his mind go there, after one meal, a slice of pie, and a Zeppelin record that landed them in each other’s pants (thank you, Jimmy Page)? 

Hell, no. He couldn’t think like this. The toothbrush in his hand, the fully furnished bedrooms across the hall, the constant welcome for Claire and Jack to visit their old man —  _ that  _ was what a dad did. Screw Dean’s stunted childhood. He could start learning  _ now.  _ He was here, and Cas was the epitome of Good Dadness, and Dean had to start somewhere.

“I’d be proud to have a dad like you,” he mumbled behind the towel drying his mouth. It slipped out before he could stop it, and it sounded pretty stupid now that he heard it in the air, but oh-fucking-well.

“Hmm?” Cas hummed as he wiped his mouth on another hand towel hanging by the shower.

“I said your kids are lucky to have a dad like you. I’d be proud if I were them.”

The side of Cas’ lip turned up at the compliment, but he looked off to the side, as if analyzing the underside of it. “I’ve met your brother. I’d say you did a fine job, yourself.”

That quite nearly knocked the wind out of Dean, so he just stood there blankly and swallowed down every self-deprecating laugh and “fuck that” arising in his throat. 

“Ready for bed?” came the merciful change of subject.

Dean grunted out an “uh huh” and left the pink toothbrush in the ceramic toothbrush holder, following Cas into the master bedroom. He slid under the covers, noticing a distinctive dip in the middle of the mattress where Cas typically slept alone. Realizing he still had his Batman boxer briefs slung over his shoulder, he tossed them onto the floor and curled up next to Cas.

“You sleep with clothes on?” he asked Cas.

“You don’t?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Hmm.”

“That one of those ‘dad’ things?”

Cas chuckled against Dean’s chest, and its reverberations warmed his soul. “Goodnight, Dean.”

Reaching over to the nightstand, Dean switched the lamp off and snuggled in closer. “Night, Cas.”


	13. Lasagna and lap dances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains art.

Waking up with Cas was just as amazing as he had anticipated.

The first thing he noticed was Cas’ hand draped across his chest. Sunlight seeped through the curtains, softly illuminating Cas’ wild dark hair and the way his chest rose and fell with each relaxed breath. Dean scooted closer, wanting to feel more of his warmth and the slight rise in his heartbeat as he’d wake up.

“Good morning, handsome,” Dean croaked as Cas began to blink awake.

He sucked in a stream of air and gave a long yawn. “Hello, Dean.” His voice was even deeper than usual. The sexy fucker.

Cas turned Dean on his side and scooted in beside him, arranging them into a spooning position. The undeniable curve of Cas’ morning wood rubbed into the crease of Dean’s naked buttcheeks.

“Well well, good morning to you, too. I can uh, help with that.”

He could hear the smile in Cas’ voice as he simply hummed in return.

——

At the mention of bacon and eggs, Dean decided to do the decent thing and at least wear his boxer briefs to breakfast. Table manners, and the such like. It was the least he could do after letting Cas use his asschecks to get his morning off to a good start. Plus the stellar handjob immediately following, despite the tiredness lingering in Cas’ eyes.

“Hey Cas,” he murmured between sips of coffee. “If I was a woman, guess how I’d like my eggs.”

Blinking in confusion, Cas set Dean’s plate at his spot at the table. “How’s that?”

“Fertilized.”

Cas allowed Dean a second to laugh at his own joke, then shook his head in defeat. “If you were a woman, you wouldn’t be here to make such a request.”

Dean gave a noncommittal shrug and began on his breakfast. Fuck that noise, he was hilarious.

“I find it refreshing that you aren’t immediately inquiring on how Claire came to be despite my preference in sexual partners.”

“Look man, I haven’t forgotten how babies are made.”

This time it was Cas’ turn to surrender to soft laughter.

“Seems crystal clear to me,” Dean continued. “Boy meets girl. They have a kid. Boy realizes he likes boys. Am I getting warm?”

“That’s — that’s more or less what happened, yes.” Cas sat at his place in the nook and the two ate in relative silence amid the smell of breakfast and coffee and the clatter of silverware on plates. 

It was quiet, but comfortable. Both were still lagging from their physical exertion the night before, plus the morning’s lazy frottage and reach-around. They had all day, and neither were keen on rushing whatever this wonderful new thing between them was. And that was comforting.

Dean merely grunted when Cas mentioned heading to the bathroom, and held his coffee mug to warm his hands. His exposed body was growing cold, and he began to wonder why Cas didn’t just knock the AC up a few degrees instead of freezing himself out to the point of actually wearing clothes. But maybe that was just the part of him talking that was used to working at a hospice home, where the temperature was perpetually 75 degrees. It couldn’t have been over 68 in this house.

A knock at the front door startled Dean out of his deep thought, but the quick  _ rap-tap-tap _ urged him onto his feet. Mug still in hand, he shuffled towards the living room, but froze when the door opened and a feminine voice filled the space.

“Dad! Jack is going to stay one more night.” The door shut. “I brought you a bagel!”

Dean had stopped dead in his tracks at the first sound of Claire’s voice, but couldn’t find the muscle memory to dart out of the room in time. His body was still in the weird limbo between “Pre-Coffee: Do Not Disturb” and “You May Now Speak” and every time he tried to move his legs, they protested in paralyzing fear.

She’ll see you!  _ Yes, so walk.  _ But we can’t!  _ Yes you can; you just stood up.  _ But it’s different when we’re under pressure this early in the morning.  _ You literally just walked from the bedroom to the kitchen, drank two cups of coffee, and got up to answer the door.  _ She’s walking in! She’s coming! Retreat! Retreat!

“Dad, are you — Ahh!” Claire screamed, dropping the paper bagel bag and covering her eyes.

Dean stood there motionless, a bed-headed mess of Batman underwear and steaming coffee. His facial muscles couldn’t even be bothered to react to her jump scare, as he was still at war with his mind to make a mad dash for Cas’ bedroom.

“Claire?” Cas’ voice rang out from the hallway bathroom. In an instant he was in the kitchen, but stopped abruptly when he saw her hands cupped around her eyes like blinders and a paper bag on the floor.

It was only then Dean could muster the sheer willpower to turn his body to face Cas, who was pinching his mouth shut to keep from giggling like a school kid. Dean didn’t understand what was so funny — he had never in his life been so mortified of anyone seeing him half naked. His eyes darted from Claire to her father and back again, watching and waiting, all the while clutching onto the coffee mug and waiting for something — anything — to happen. Clothes magically appearing on him. Claire turning to run. The freaking apocalypse. He wasn’t picky at this point.

“You didn’t tell me he was spending the night,” she lamented bitterly.

Cas exhaled sharply. “Now Claire, I know this isn’t the first time you’ve seen Dean in —”

“It doesn’t matter! I don’t want to think about you two… doing…” She gestured vaguely into the air. “...That!”

While Dean stood like a statue, his coffee rapidly reaching thermal equilibrium with the cold air, as Cas pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sweetheart, I didn’t realize you were stopping by. I would have warned Dean beforehand.”

“Okay. Well,” she paused, voice toned down several notches. “I’m gonna go before I get any more unwelcome images in my head. No offense, but dicks are gross.”

Dean snorted. For the first time since Claire walked in his muscles unclenched, and he found himself saying unbidden words. “I’m afraid I’m gonna have to disagree with you on that one.”

“Ew!” she squealed, shaking her hands disgustedly. With a quick pivot she took off, mumbling disjointed phrases about  _ right across from her old room  _ and  _ nasty-ass parent sex.  _ She shut the front door, and with her exit came a charged silence between the two men left standing that crested with them making eye contact.

Cas was the first one to succumb to laughter that started as a blow of air out of his nose and grew into a sputtering burst that crinkled his eyes and showed off his teeth. Dean supposed it was at least a little funny, not to mention how adorable Cas looked bed-headed and smiling, so he soon followed with his own deep-bellied chuckle.

“Is she scarred for life now?” he wondered out loud.

“She’ll be back,” Cas said. “She was aware of our relationship before this morning.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a difference between knowing your old man is banging one of your co-workers and seeing him chillin’ out in the kitchen mere minutes after the fact.”

Cas shrugged. “That may be, but she will adjust. She’s happy for us, I can tell.”

Picking up the fallen paper bag, Dean grunted a reply and peeked in to see a blueberry bagel and serving sized tub of cream cheese. “Damn, does she bring food offerings every time she visits?”

“Often enough to know I’ll always have a snack on hand.” Cas took the bag and glanced inside before putting it in the fridge. 

Dean smiled at that, and he couldn’t tell exactly why, until he remembered the times Claire would bring  _ him  _ things every now and again. Obviously giving, for her, was more than a way to show she didn’t completely hate someone. It was a gesture of genuine care, and seeing it gave him a warm bloom of hope. Maybe Cas was right. Maybe Dean wasn’t such a horrible father figure. Maybe Claire and Jack wouldn’t hate him after all.

And maybe, just maybe, Dean wasn’t turning into John Winchester.

——

His drive back to the apartment was silent, save for the low rumble of his car’s engine. She needed work, he could hear it, but overall, it was a beautiful sound. Halfway there he realized he hadn’t turned the radio on, but by that time he shrugged it off and continued the drive deep in his thoughts. 

They had spent all day together, mostly unclothed, just like he was hoping. Cas ordered delivery that afternoon, which was the only point in the day he had on a complete ensemble of socks, sweat shorts, and a t-shirt. The domesticity of it all very nearly startled Dean — how seamlessly he fit here, how easy it was to occupy Cas’ space and just  _ be. _

What did it all mean? Could it really be this simple? Finding someone the soul connects with, and doing life with them? After the bitter samplings of life Dean had tasted, it sounded too easy. Too good to be true. But maybe not. Maybe he had just been dealt a shitty hand and this was the tide turning.

Whatever it was, it was unlike anything he could have expected, and he grabbed it by the balls. He had to give this a chance. He had to give  _ them  _ a chance. 

Upon entering his own bedroom, Dean noticed the disarray of clothes scattered on the bed he had left the night before. Grumbling to himself, he avoided the chore of hanging them all back up and instead headed to the kitchen for a cup of Ramen noodles. The ground cayenne he used for extra spice was expired, but hell, expiration dates were a myth anyway. While the noodles soaked up the boiling water he sat at his table, staring blankly at the boxes of records and resting his chin in his hands.

After eating their delivery lunch of orange chicken and spring rolls, he and Cas had started up season one of Star Trek: the Next Generation; “started” being the key word. They both laid on their sides, Dean’s back against Cas, which offered the perfect position for Dean to grind his ass against Cas’ crotch. One thing led to another and well… the next time either of them paid any mind to the TV, Netflix was projecting the ever-condescending “Are you still watching” message across a black screen.

That was pretty much how their entire afternoon had gone. Sometimes Cas instigated it, sometimes Dean did, but regardless of how it started, it ended happy and messy every time. He replayed every blowjob, handjob, and clothed frottage in his mind, the beeping of his phone the only thing that tore him out of the blessed visual. By then his noodles were far past an acceptable softness. Gross.

**>> I enjoyed our time last night and today.**

Dean smiled at Cas’ text, standing up to toss out the cup of noodles.

**<< Didn’t get to meet Jack, though.**

Cas replied quickly to Dean’s regret.

**>> Next time, then?**

Dean’s heart fluttered at the thought. Talk about domestic. Cas was talking about them all hanging out… _ together.  _ He was suggesting Dean hang out with his  _ family,  _ the most intimate group of all in one’s life. What’s more, Cas was suggesting a next time. Toes wiggling involuntarily in his socks, Dean let out an anxious breath and texted back.

**<< Hell yeah. My place ain’t much but you guys are welcome over for dinner one night**

He sent it before he had a chance to think it through. What the hell? What the actual hell, dude?

Dean didn’t have enough room for the four of them to sit at a table. He’d have to send the kids to the living room to accomodate all of them, and that wasn’t even considering the bathroom issue. What if one person had to shit at the same time? They could barely all walk around each other in his apartment, much less enjoy each other’s company.

**>> What a lovely idea. Shall I bring a dish?**

Oh.

Oh yeah. Food.

It was official: Dean was the worst host  _ ever,  _ because he had no freaking clue what to tell Cas.

**<< Actually, I don’t really cook much. So, I guess bring whatever. Lol**

He actually cringed while waiting for a response. Watching the ellipses fade in and out must have taken hours, by the way his lungs burned in need of air by the time Cas’ reply came through.

**>> How about I make lasagna, and you pick up some garlic bread?**

Dean ran his fingers through his hair, huffing in relief. Cas had to be an actual, real-life angel.

**<< That sounds awesome. Thanks Cas. And yes, I do have an oven.**

**>> Is it in working condition?**

Peering at the large square machine under the stovetop, Dean set his phone down to step closer for a better look. He opened the oven door, and a waft of cold, stale air hit him. It smelled strange, like chemicals and metal. Not a crumb lie on the floor, as he hadn’t touched the thing since he moved in. Straightening up, he flicked it to “On” and waited.

Within a minute, heat began emanating from the bake element. Satisfied, he turned it back to “Off” and closed the oven door.

**<< Yep**

It took a minute for Cas to text back, which Dean convinced himself was due to the fact that Cas was thinking of something cutesy to say and  _ certainly not  _ laughing his ass off at Dean needing to figure out if the damn thing would even turn on. Cas wasn’t stupid; he could figure out what was taking so long. Oh well. It was either this or Dean bullshit an answer and potentially be wrong. That would make an awkward family dinner.

**>> Excellent. How does Tuesday sound?**

Dean wrote back, expressing his approval, and that was that. He was really doing it. He was having Cas and the kiddos over for dinner next week. It was official. 

His heart beat in his throat as he pictured it. He had so many questions for Jack. After hearing so much about him, Dean couldn’t wait to finally meet him. Claire would likely have few words, putting up the “I’m barely tolerating you” facade, but enjoying every second. Maybe Cas would try to teach him a few tricks around the kitchen, which Dean would try his best to retain, only to forget as soon as his lips connected with Cas’.

The mental image sparked cleaning inspiration, which prompted him to to dust, vacuum, and clean the bathroom. He even hung up his pile of clothes, debating on Tuesday night’s outfit with every shirt he placed back on a hanger. After his bed was finally clear, he glanced over at his practice pole, and hummed to himself.

He was definitely giving Cas a private show. The question was, when? They couldn’t exactly sneak back here with Claire and Jack twelve feet beyond the wall. The grown-ups could always choose a different day for shenanigans. If Dean was to familiarize himself with family life, planning around kids was a skill he would have to learn quickly.

While in the shower, Dean flicked playfully at the dildo still suctioned to the tile wall. He thanked every shred of foresight he owned that he had gotten the thing, even as big as it was. Whenever the blessed day would come when Cas’ dick would he inside him, Dean would be as prepared as possible, considering how long it had been since he had bottomed for anyone.

Sleep came easy that night. And how could it not, when he felt more content than he had in perhaps ever? Not relaxed, because everything about yesterday and today had been exciting; and not stressful, because it was the best kind of busy. He felt so alive and himself, like the wounds his life had dealt were finally beginning to scab over. 

——

It was Dean’s phone ringer, not alarm, that awoke him the next morning. Confused, he slapped at it lazily before it occurred to his sleep-addled brain that a call earlier than considered polite could precede bad news. He fumbled with the phone, dropping it on the phone once before getting a good enough hold of it to answer without even looking at the caller ID. His eyes were still too fuzzy to read the screen anyway.

His groggy voice cracked. “Hello?”

And as many directions as his mind could go this early in the morning, as many voices as he listed through in the amount of time it took to answer, he wasn’t expecting this one.

“Dean? It’s me.”

Shooting up to an upright position, Dean swallowed the giant lump in his throat forming from just those three words. His tired eyes stung. His hands went clammy. Was he starting to sweat? Everything halted. Time. Space. Even his own heartbeat, it seemed. 

“Sammy?”

Over the phone, a staticky sigh and whispered swear dotted the otherwise silence. Then, a shaky inhale. “Yeah, hey. Uh… hey.”

Mind going blank, Dean huffed a short, humorless laugh. All brain functions went out the window as soon as Sam’s voice reached his ear. He had so many lines planned out to say, all so eloquent and suave. An extensive apology, several strong words directed at Sam’s own silence, and an ice breaker or two, to get back into the swing of talking. 

He couldn’t remember a single word. 

“S-Sam,” he tried again.

“Dean,” the voice said again, and holy cow, Dean wasn’t dreaming after all. It really was his little brother. “I uh… just got off work.”

Swallowing again, this time loud enough to be heard on the phone, Dean released a fistful of sheets he didn’t realize he was holding in a deathgrip. What once seemed perfectly still was now spinning. He didn’t know where to look or how to react. It was Sam. On the phone. After years of radio silence.

What was he supposed to do with that?

“It looks like we have a mutual friend,” Sam continued after an awkward silence. “Long story short, I talked to Cas, and I just wanted to say…” Another staticky sigh. “...Man, I am the biggest asshole ever. I’m sorry, Dean.”

This time, tears really were threatening to fill his eyes. They arose suddenly, along with that damn lump in his throat that shoved its way back up, choking him into a thick sob. Dean smashed his eyes shut, a tear trickling down his bowed face. He breathed as lightly as he could, but a suddenly runny nose gave him away as he sniffed loudly into the phone.

“Look dude, I’m not completely innocent, here.” Dean’s voice shook. “I was young and stupid, and —”

“Wait,” Sam interrupted. “I know that, and I spent way too long thinking that was the only side that mattered. Cas shed some light on some stuff. And…” Sam paused, sniffed lightly, and cleared his throat. “I almost called you like, a million times over the past few years.”

Dean almost laughed. Man, both of them were so fucking stupid. Both of them avoiding  _ just talking it out  _ like a roach runs from light. They really were related, after all.

“I know now,” Sam said, “that you were just trying to protect me. I don’t really ‘get it’ because I was never thrust into that position, but that’s no excuse to shut you out of my life forever.”

“Sam —”

“I was pissed off and wouldn’t consider your side of the story. I guess I didn’t even care. And I’m sorry. That was really shitty of me to do, and was even worse than you lying. At least you did it for a good reason. I did what I did just because I was a jackass.”

Dean smiled. He hadn’t heard Sam say anything worse than “damn” since he was barely old enough to shave. It warmed his heart and made a new pool of tears form in his eyes. “Man, I’m just glad to hear from you. I was starting to think you never wanted to speak to me again.”

“Yeah, blocking you was a dick move, too.”

“I probably deserved it.”

“Bull.”

Both of them just sat for a moment, silent, taking in the full weight of so many years of not being in each other’s lives, all culminating right here, right now. The air was thick with so much else to say, yet it hung there between them like neither felt worthy enough to reach for it.

“This is nuts,” Sam said under his breath. “Aren’t you going to chew me out or something?”

Honestly, there was a time when Dean would have clocked him in the jaw if they had crossed paths on the street, or at least called him a dramatic bitch, but sometime between then and now all that had faded away. All the anger and bitterness had worn off. Now all Dean wanted was his brother back. And at last, he could have him.

“I wanna see my brother,” he replied. “That’s all I want.”

Sam’s sharp sigh was laden with relief. “Dude, same. I’m pretty sure our schedules conflict, but we need to work something out.”

Thinking back to the one time he stayed over his scheduled time and wound up talking to Sam accidentally, Dean halfway considered telling on himself. He decided against it. That would make a better in-person story, anyway. It was hilarious, too. He couldn’t wait to see Sam laugh again. Dean hadn’t seen Sam crack a smile since before their dad died.

“When’s your next day off?”

“Uh, Tuesday.”

Dean’s face lit up. “Come over for dinner. Cas and his kids will be there.”

“Great,” Sam assented, a grin in his voice. “I’ll be there.”

“You better. Or I’ll drag your ass out of that office building myself.”

Sam blew a humored puff of air out of his nose. “I don’t even know how to close this conversation. It’s so weird. I feel like I’m just barging in after I’ve been the one locking you out.”

Although no one could see him, Dean bobbed his head from side to side in a “so-so” motion. That was literally what it was, but he didn’t want to go there. Maybe not ever. At this point, he was just grateful to be let back in. “I know how to close it. See you Tuesday. Don’t forget. Oh and uh, bring some pie.”

“You got it. See you then.”

“Bye, Sam.”

Dean waited until the dial tone before pulling the phone away from his ear. He looked down at the ended call, and how much time they had spoken. The minutes and seconds. Sam’s name at the top. A name he hadn’t seen across his screen in far too long. 

That lump in his throat was coming back up. His eyes stung with fresh tears, but when he looked at the time he had to push through his morning routine in order to get to work on time. It was all happening so fast: dating Cas, making plans with his family, and now getting Sam back. After waiting so long, however, one could hardly say it was happening “too fast.” In fact, his healing and brotherly reunion was a long time coming. One might even say it was about time.

——

“Miss Novak, oh Miss Novak!” a crotchety old voice crooned behind the front desk. “I seem to have lost my dentures. Oh dear, I think I left them up the missus’ ass.”

“Hi Dean,” Claire said, turning around with a stack of papers to face Dean in all his sexy sailor boy glory.

He leaned over the stack in her hands, trying to read the top copy. “That my schedule?”

“Mm hmm, and you’re going to love the routine the ladies in the Parkinson’s wing voted on.”

“I’m gonna love your dad’s lasagna more.”

“That’s tonight, isn’t it?” she mused, handing over a paper to Dean.

“You should invite Kaia,” Dean suggested before he could unjustify it, “if she likes lasagna.”

Claire cracked a smile. “Probably. She eats everything in sight. I’ll ask her.”

“Awesome.”

Dean had to steal away to his locker to send Cas a text. Sexy sailor boy outfits didn’t exactly include many places to hide a phone.

**<< Kaia might come over too**

Within a minute, Cas replied.

**>> The more the merrier. I’m filling a 9x13 pan, so there will be plenty.**

Dean didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded pretty impressive. He fidgeted with his thumbs and bit his lip before hitting Cas with the next bit of info.

**<< I might have also invited Sam**

The four seconds that followed seemed to drag on for hours.

**>> I’m making two lasagnas.**

Dean quirked a half-smile at the adjustment needed to accommodate his giant of a brother. Hey, he wasn’t about to apologize for making Cas bring extra. Leftovers, baby.

His day started off mighty fine, and it only got better from there. In the middle of a dance routine he caught sight of a familiar pair of blue eyes. Once he was upright, he flashed Cas a wink but kept moving fluidly around his stage. A low chuckle rumbled in his throat when Cas flushed red and smiled at the floor, and Dean thought to himself,  _ Yep, I’m definitely giving him a lap dance tonight. _

He made a beeline for Cas as soon as the routine was over. He had to press through a mass of lethargic but horny elderlies, and ignored the pinch one of them gave his bicep on his way to the man standing still, waiting for him in the center of the room. Cas had his hands in his khaki pockets and looked like he was concentrating very hard on keeping his eyes upright.

Dean snorted a laugh. “I’m a stripper, dude. You don’t  _ have  _ to look at my face.”

“What if I want to look at your face?” Cas defended, his voice teetering between the shy guy in tech and the domineering beast he could be behind locked doors.

It was Dean’s turn to look at the floor while a blush rose into his cheeks. “Uh, so,” he stumbled in an attempt at recovery. “Router broken again?”

“On break, actually. It occured to me that I’ve never seen you perform. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Well, now you’ve seen it,” he downplayed with a shrug. “Lah-dee-freakin’-dah.” When Cas’ eyebrow shot up in reply, Dean cocked his head smugly and pouted. “I guess this means you don’t need a private show anymore, huh?”

The intensity of Cas’ gaze heightened, his pupils dilating with every word. Dean felt like he was staring directly into a black hole, threatening to swallow him up. The pull was so strong, the dispersing crowd seemed to drift away, and he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in those strong arms right then and there. Oh, the switch that Cas could flip between awkward and confident. It was a ride every time, and Dean loved it.

After Cas spent a handful of short, intoxicating seconds fucking Dean with his eyes, he stated, “I’m off early today.”

Dean’s heart leapt into his throat. His mind immediately went to his schedule, which was more or less free time for the last two hours of his shift; then to messaging Gabriel, attempting to make leaving work early sound professional. There weren’t many diplomatic ways of saying what he wanted to say, but maybe he could make up an excuse…

“So are you,” Cas continued.

Dean shook himself out of his meandering thoughts. “What?”

“I talked to my cousin already. You’re free to go after all your scheduled appointments.”

Beaming, Dean’s shoulders relaxed, the tension leaving his body. “Come over when you can.”

Cas’ brows scrunched piously as he nodded. “Of course, of course. We will need plenty of time to prepare the lasagna before additional company arrives, after all.”

“Yeah, the lasagna… Yeah, that’s it.” Dean gently placed his hand on the back of Cas’ neck and placed a teasing kiss on his cheek. The frustration from their lips not touching physically manifested all over Cas’ face. 

“Lower.”

Dean dropped his voice nearly an octave lower. “I said yes, we’ll start the lasagna early.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “You’re really going to get it.”

The butterflies in Dean’s stomach did a backflip.

——

Cas arrived at 3:47pm. Before that point, Dean had already given up on everything being perfect — he did live there, after all — there was an open bag of chips on the couch and a coffee mug in the sink. He wasn’t concentrating much on apartment presentation to begin with, and since he clocked out early that afternoon, he was fully focused on presenting his own self for his audience of one.

The choice between lacy black and neon green was a difficult one. He rested his chin on his fist as he stood staring down the two undergarments on his bed. On one hand, Cas had already seen him in something bright earlier today, but he could make the case that it brought the “work vibe” home. On the other hand, he was at home, not work, and the boxer briefs composed completely of lace with the exception of a thin waistband were one of his special “not work” pairs, which made them perfect to show off for Cas.

It wasn’t until a knock at the front door that Dean yanked his head out of his ass and went for the black lace. Hopping on one foot, he slipped into one leg, then another, not bothering with any other clothes as he hid the majority of his body behind the door as he cracked it open. Cas lit up at the sight of him, looking sharp as hell in jeans that looked just a tad tight and a casual button-up shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”

Cas leaned to the side curiously, arms laden with two covered glass pans and paper grocery bag. “I was going to say the obvious, but now I’m wondering what you’re hiding that I can heat up.”

Dean opened the door, allowing Cas inside and revealing his lacy underwear. “Besides the oven and your delicious homemade lasagna?”

“We have an hour before I need to put this in the oven,” Cas noted with a fast glance downward. Balancing the two 9x13 dishes in one hand, he fished his phone out of his pocket to check the time. “And an hour after that before everyone else gets here.”

“Here, let me take something,” Dean offered, switching gears at the thought of Cas’ hard work plummeting to the floor. Cas slid both glass dishes into Dean’s hands and led them into the kitchen, just off the living room. “Refrigerator, right?”

Cas nodded. “Do you have serving utensils? A spatula or large spoon, perhaps?”

Whipping his head around, Dean hummed thoughtfully and began mentally sorting through which cabinets he kept things in. He had a few forks and knives in the one by the stove, and plastic-ware sets he had collected from to-go meals in the one by the sink. The biggest spoon he had was a wooden one he got at a yard sale because it was shaped like Darth Vader, which was hilarious at the time. As for a spatula…  _ Those were the ones with the flat end, right? _

“It’s alright. I brought one,” Cas amended while giving his paper bag a light shake. “I do trust you have your own plates, though?”

Glancing at the top cabinet above his coffee maker, Dean opened the door to reveal several mismatched plates and a set of four white bowls. “Yahtzee,” he said, then slipped the two glass dishes into the fridge. As soon as he turned back around Cas was on him, one hand on his waist and the other slipped around his neck to pull him into an abrupt kiss.

Dean melted into it, fingers dragging along Cas’ shoulders and muscular back. He yielded to Cas’ prying tongue, treasuring the unique taste of his mouth and letting out a sharp breath when one of Cas’ hands wandered to his hair.

Cas let out a pondering sound, which was mostly stifled by their oral preoccupations, to which Dean snapped back with a frustrated, “What?”

The response he got was a slow smile inching across Cas’ face, and the sensation of his deft fingers wrapping around his longer hairs.  _ No, no no,  _ he couldn’t reveal his weakness yet. Cas couldn’t know about his hair-pulling kink, not now, before Dean had a chance to get him on a chair. Once Cas knew about the hair thing, it was all over. Dean would be putty in his hands.

So he pushed against Cas’ chest.

It wasn’t hard enough to hurt him, or even hard enough to actually move his solid frame, but it got the message across. “What?” Cas mused with feigned innocence.

“Bedroom,” Dean replied with as much dominance as he could muster, which still wasn’t much, considering how close he was to being found out. At least his voice didn’t squeak like a thirteen year old in puberty. “Now.”

Dean caught the start of a smug grin as he grabbed Cas’ hand and led them deeper into his apartment, through the eating area and into the modest master suite. He elected to ignore it, if not for his own sanity than anything else. He didn’t want to think about that look on Cas face as he discovered all the weird shit Dean liked in bed, all domineering and in perfect control…

Right now, Dean was the one in control.

“Sit,” he ordered, pointing to the chair he left specially for this occasion. Even in the middle of the room, there wasn’t a lot of space to work in, with the bed to one side and a pole on the other. But Dean was creative enough to have it all planned out. He could work with the space he had.

Even the lighting was just right. Muted yellow light from his bedside lamp barely illuminated the otherwise dark room. His blinds were shut and he purposefully left as many other lights in the nearby rooms off as he could without it looking gloomy. On his bed sat his phone, volume up and music paused.

Cas took his time sitting down, taking in his surroundings and visibly less and less in his element by the second. “Ever gotten one of these?” Dean asked, turning his back to him to pick up his phone. By the look Cas was fighting to keep off his face, the answer was obvious, but he wanted to hear him say it.

“No,” he admitted simply.

Dean smiled but did not turn his head for Cas to see; instead he pressed play, dropped it back on the bed, and took a swaying step backwards. His music choice was something new — so much more enjoyable than the awful hospice tunes — a playlist rich with electronic beats that he used when practicing on the pole at home.

He eased backwards onto Cas’ lap, the familiar movements calming him as he slowly grinded down. His lace brushed roughly against Cas’ jeans, but it would be worth every frayed fiber in the end. When he reached down to find Cas’ hands clasping the sides of the chair in a death grip he chuckled, most of the sounds drowned out by the steady drumbeat and sultry lyrics. He guided Cas’ hands to his chest, then down his stomach, hips, and thighs.

“I thought,” Cas choked, then cleared his throat to try again, “I thought I wasn’t allowed to touch.”

Dean stood up just long enough to pivot around and sit back down facing Cas. “You’re allowed when I say you’re allowed.”

One of Castiel’s eyebrows tilted up at that, but Dean gave a full body roll that distracted his audience from whatever he was about to say. He did another, his full torso elongating and stretching in fluid waves. Cas seemed at war with where to look, which Dean got far more enjoyment out of than his entire stripping career. Those blue eyes flitted down to his abdomen, then his face, then even further down, where Dean’s hips ground against his lap, and flew back up again. He was trying to take everything in and it was too much and not enough, and watching him agonize between the two brought a smile to Dean’s face.

The beat dropped, and Dean kneeled onto the floor and pulled Cas to the edge of his seat, pressing their groins against each other as Dean supported his own weight on his toes. He entrusted the chair with the chore of keeping them from still as he thrust against Cas, grinning as the hard bulge of his dick began swelling underneath his jeans. 

A provoked groan reached Dean’s ear, and he arched back just enough to see Cas’ brows knitted together as he moved his own pelvis in time with Dean’s, abandoning all decency for the chance to feel just a little bit more friction where his body demanded. He looked so delicious, all hot and bothered and pinned down onto the receiving end. He didn’t even stop when he raised his head to see Dean staring; he just kept holding onto Dean’s arms, breathing hard as the hunger continued to rise in his piercing eyes.

“Dean,” he breathed, barely loud enough to hear above the music. The only reason Dean could make it out was because he was already so close to Cas’ face.

Getting up, Dean turned away again but backed up until his legs were on either side of the chair with his ass against Cas’ chest. This time when he ushered Cas’ hands down his body and towards his dick, Cas responded eagerly, nudging his palm against Dean before relaxing his fingers against the growing erection underneath sheer black lace.

Dean came too close to faltering from the desperately needed touch. A groan of blatant yearning vibrated in his throat. If he didn’t keep moving, all this touchy-feely stuff was going to get out of hand.

Leaning forward with straightened legs, he let the bulk of his weight dip down to his arms. Once he got his bearings, he threw his legs into the air, then lowered them onto the back of the chair. He backed himself up against Cas from the new angle, ass pressed against Cas’ clothed dick and humping them together to the enthusiastic beat of the music.

Cas’ hands found their way to Dean’s ass and thighs, pulling him closer as Cas pushed himself away from the back of the chair. Although not facing him, Dean could feel the tension winding between them, tighter and tighter like a rubber band about to snap. Cas’ hands stroked roughly, unhinged lust coursing between them, even as Dean fought to keep his own movements controlled.

“Dean, I haven’t come in my pants since I was fifteen, but if you keep this up,” he huffed an exasperated laugh. “Although I’m certainly not complaining…”

Standing upright, Dean turned back around to face Cas with a satisfied smirk. “Oh, I’m far from done with you.”

Cas’ eyes opened a little wider at the sound of that. Dean took his wrists in either hand and placed them on the sides of the chair, a silent instruction to keep them to himself for the time being. Cas followed the command and looked up, full attention on Dean without a care in the world.

That was the look Dean liked on a client. When they were fully under his spell, eyes on him like nothing else existed. It was the escape people relied on him for, and man was it a hell of a good look on Cas.

Again, Dean stepped around the chair, crowding Cas with his stomach and chest, but instead of grinding down, he reached back to grab the chair, then tilted it back. The sensation of free-falling startled Cas, who stiffened in his seat, but Dean caught the back of it before it hit the pole that Cas had failed to notice would have broken his fall anyway.

After a sigh of relief, Cas laughed, tilting his head back as Dean tilted the chair against the pole. It was a steep slant, angling Cas almost completely horizontal. Even in the wake of the surprise tilt backward, Cas looked up with trusting eyes, as Dean knew like the back of his hand that his pole and that chair would hold. 

Rolling his hips, he slipped his thumbs under the waistband, dragging out the fun few seconds of _ ohh not yet!  _ Sliding the lace underwear down his legs, he watched with glee as Cas’ expression fell from expectant to frustrated — underneath all that lace, the tiniest secret black thong had been waiting there all along.

“You tease,” Cas lamented. 

Dean winked. “I know.” He stepped forward, his dick level with Cas’ face, and started grinding again. He kept a hand on the pole, careful not to get too eager, as the scruff on Cas’ face rubbing against his nethers was a feeling he could get carried away with far too quickly. “You like it, though.”

Cas looked from Dean’s crotch to his face and back down again with an abandoned smile, but said nothing.

“Isn’t that right, Cas? You like this, me rubbing my dick all over you and making you keep your hands off me.”

Eyes darkening, Cas’ expression shifted. 

Dean swallowed at the sudden change, his excitement apparent in the scant thong. His cock throbbed with need, every miniscule touch like electricity against the fabric on his skin. It made his teasing all too tempting, and debated whether to keep up the act or damn it all to hell and sit on his face for real.

“Tell me what you’d do, huh?” Dean’s voice dropped from show biz to trembling with earnesty. “If I let you use your hands? Would you suck my cock with those pretty lips of yours?”

Cas licked his lips, eyes fluttering to the bits still covered with fabric, before meeting Dean’s heated gaze. “I’d pry that confounded thong out of the way and fuck you until your neighbors know my name.”

Dean’s hand slipped from the pole with a shuddering breath. Losing his footing, he swore under his breath and smothered his crotch into Cas’ face. He regained his composure as quickly as he had lost it, leaning against the pole with both hands and looking down at a very aroused Cas.

Then as soon as he was certain his legs still worked, he flipped himself upward, wrapping his legs around the pole to evenly disperse his weight. Cas followed him with his eyes, watching as he contorted himself upside down, legs just loose enough around the cold metal slide down face first. With Cas leaning back in the tilted chair, Dean kissed him upside down, not deepening it; just firmly enough to signal the end of their session.

Stepping off and making his way back to the side of the bed, Dean paused the music and turned his head toward Cas, intrigued by how he might react. What he saw was Cas frozen in his seat, fingers still gripping the chair, inclined within an inch of his life, eyes wide and mouth agape. His shell-shocked daze told him everything. Dean stepped forward one last time, but only to put the front chair legs back on solid ground.

“Well?” he asked quietly. “Was it everything you ever dreamed of?”

Cas’ mouth opened, but only a breathy sigh came out. At the corners of his mouth, an awed smile began to emerge.

“Did I rock your world? Did I blow your mind?”

“Dean,” Cas began, head shaking in disbelief. “That was… That was…”

_ Powerful, impressive, sexy  _ were all words he had heard before, and hoped for something akin to them from his audience of one. He had also heard less nice words describing his work, and in the tiny shred of time it took for Cas to think, Dean broke out in a cold sweat hoping to Christ he didn’t just completely turn him off with a performance some couldn’t see past.

“I can’t even form adequate words. That was truly spectacular, Dean. You… you are —”

“Alright, you’re making me blush,” he excused with a wave of his hand.

“I mean it,” Cas defended, standing up. “Your work is beautiful, and even more so up close. I feel incredibly lucky to have experienced that. It was also highly arousing.” He glanced down at his boner, which was still straining against his tight jeans.

Dean winced. “Ooh, that can’t be comfortable. Let me help you out of those.” His brows wiggled playfully as he stepped into Cas’ space. Their lips were a hair's breadth apart when a tiny, screeching beeping sound resounded from Cas’ back pocket.

Cas sighed resentfully and turned off the alarm. “I need to preheat the oven.”

_ Oh, right. Lasagna. _

“You do that,” Dean assented with a nod of his head.

Instead of heading to the kitchen right away, Cas used Dean’s bathroom to wash his hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Dean’s dildo suctioned to the tile shower wall. Now, Dean had every intention of closing the shower curtain… eventually. If anyone were to ask, of course he didn’t  _ mean  _ for Cas to see his toy on purpose; he didn’t even know if Cas was going to use the bathroom. But off the record, he was overjoyed to see the quick glance Cas threw in the mirror before resuming his hand-drying.

Cas didn’t say a word as he passed Dean on his way to the kitchen. He simply raised an eyebrow, stared him down knowingly, and kept walking. Looking down in the wake of Cas’ intense gaze, he snapped the thin band of his thong, picturing what was soon to come.

And he smiled.


	14. We Are Family

“Are you clean?”

“Like, the inside of my ass? Yes,” Dean panted, face in the sheets and ass in the air. “Or clean as in, testing negative on clap, clam and high-five? Because also yes.”

“I meant the latter, but the former will make this more enjoyable as well.”

Dean breathed out as Cas peeled the thong string to one side and spread his ass cheeks, kneeling behind him with a bottle of lube and the shower dildo sinking into the comforter somewhere near his knees. “What about you?”

“The inside of my ass?”

“Dork.”

“The testing my cousin provides the hospice’s residents extends to the rest of the businesses owned by my extended family. I was tested around the same time you were. All clear.”

Dean grabbed the dusty condom he kept stowed on the nightstand and tossed it over his shoulder. “Won’t be needing this.” It landed on the floor somewhere.

“Are you sure you want to attempt this, Dean?”

“Shut up and stick me with that thing, already.”

The next noise he heard was lube being spread on his toy. The next thing he felt was lube around and in his hole, spread by Cas’ careful finger. “I hope this isn’t because of what I said while you were grinding your dick on my face.”

“It’s not,” Dean insisted. “I wanna try. I’ve been wanting to ever since we started talking.”

“Alright,” Cas said on an exhale, pressing the head of the large dildo against Dean’s puckered ass. Dean leaned into it, urging Cas to just go for it, but was quietly relieved when Cas took his time. The blunt head breached him, sinking in one slow inch at a time. The stretch was a lot, but not unpleasant, and Dean kept relaxing as he breathed, until the whole shaft was in.

It was just as big as he remembered.

Shifting his hips, he shuddered at the pressure it put inside him and how he could feel it everywhere with even the most diminutive movement. His heartbeat quickened at the realization that Cas was going to make this thing seem like amateur hour, and he buried his face in the sheets to cover his heavy breathing.

“Dean, I’m right here.”

The low rumble of Cas’ voice soothed him, and as he felt a gentle hand on his lower back, his breathing slowed until he was calm enough to raise his head without looking like he was hyperventilating. 

“We don’t have to —”

“I wanna,” Dean protested. “Seriously. You have no idea how much I wanna. I bought the damn thing ‘cuz I couldn’t have you.”

Cas tenderly stroked Dean’s back as he leaned forward, whispering as close to Dean’s ear as he could while keeping a hand on the toy. “You have me now.”

Even buried in the sheets, Dean’s lips curled up in a smile. He might have also let out a short, contented hum, but if he did, he hardly noticed and the mattress muffled most of it anyway. He was stretched wide but quickly relaxing around the dildo, and if he took it well enough, he’d get the real thing as a reward. The thought, combined with Cas’ feather-light touch, sent a shiver up his spine.

When Cas began the first slow pull, Dean clutched onto the sheets and braced himself. The toy slid out to the tip, leaving his walls gaping and empty, followed by the steady drive of Cas pressing it back into him. What once seemed daunting now earned a hungry groan in his throat. Dean waited eagerly for each thrust, counted on it. 

But as good as it was to fuck himself against the toy in the shower, knowing Cas was behind each motion was so much better. With someone else at the helm controlling the depth and speed, it was a mystery what the next thrust would bring. How exhilarating it was having someone else in charge of an inanimate object that could bring such pleasure. How incredible it was that “someone” was Cas, and as it turned out, he was masterful at the task.

And then.

_ And then.  _ Cas did the thing. He reached past Dean’s back and neck, wrapped his fingers around the longer hairs on the top of his head, and  _ pulled. _

An uninhibited groan rumbled in Dean’s throat. Every nerve in his body was on fire. The slight twinge of pain translated into intense pleasure as he bucked against the toy and threw his head back.  _ This  _ was the stuff, right here. On his hands and knees, ass stuffed, and hair yanked back. He grunted in abandonment as Cas tightened his hold.

“C-Cas,” Dean didn’t realize he was uttering, over and over. “Cas, I want… I want… Cas…”

The voice behind him was raspy and labored, as if an oversized lifelike dildo wasn’t doing his dirty work. As if despite not even being inside Dean, Cas was struggling to hold in his load. “Yes, Dean? What is it? What do you want?”

“Shit, Cas, I want you.”

“You have me.”

“No, I want  _ you.  _ As in, all of you.”

Cas released a shaky, relieved exhale, and slowed the toy’s motions. “I’m already so hard watching you. You are stunning, taking it so well. I wish you could see yourself.”

“Fuck,” Dean breathed as Cas released his hair and the dildo’s tip slid out, leaving his hole wide open. “I’d rather see you. Cas, can I ride you?”

“Whatever you want, Dean.”

He turned around to see Cas flushed and frazzled, his face revealing what his barely controlled voice had failed to. He held onto the base of his length, restricting blood flow in an effort to stop himself from ejaculating prematurely. The dildo laid discarded to the side. Cas’ expression revved up Dean’s resolve exponentially — it was one of concentration, of barely holding on.

“Shit,” Dean hissed under his breath as he stripped himself of the thong and arranged himself over Cas’ lap. He watched Cas’ brows furrow and eyes shut in surrender as he squirted another helping of lube onto the fully erect cock under him. Big as it was, it looked oh so welcoming, all shiny with lubricant and already throbbing in wait, like it knew his ass was nearby.

And as Dean reached behind him to guide in the tip, Cas opened his eyes to hold Dean’s waist and watch him sink onto his cock. Dean exhaled triumphantly as Cas breached his entrance, the stretch intense but thanks to their practice with the toy, painless.  _ Smooth sailing from here,  _ he assured himself as he dipped down a tiny bit at a time.

Every time he made headway downward, he lifted himself back up a ways to adjust to the girth. His hands had found placement around Cas’ shoulders, and if they weren’t draped over them relaxedly, he was lacing his fingers behind his neck. He was grateful Cas was sitting up, staying close to him, offering what support he could; maybe he’d throw him on his back once he was fully seated, but for now, it was nice to be so intimately close in every way possible.

_ So full, so freaking full,  _ the thought crossed his mind on repeat. Glancing down, he saw more of Cas’ length still outside of him than he anticipated, and with a harsh blow of air, he set his mind to it and kept descending with all the grit and obstinacy that made him Dean Winchester.

“Amazing.”

“Wh-what?” Dean puffed, in the middle of working through relaxing an entire muscle group and caught off-guard.

“You’re doing so well. It’s just… impressive.”

One of Dean’s brows followed his upward smile. “Most guys refuse to try and take it?”

“It’s — well — yes,” Cas stuttered, a thumb distractedly tracing shapes on Dean’s back. “It’s just that I’m —”

“Not small.”

Cas huffed in amusement. “I wasn’t lying.”

Dean grimaced with particular difficulty. “No shit,” he whispered, breathing out as he released the tension from his body. With one more dip downward, his lap met Cas’, and he found himself full to the brim with the biggest man he’d ever taken. His pride swelled a little knowing that he was perhaps one of the only ones who had even tried. And he had succeeded.  _ Like a friggin’ boss,  _ he told himself.

Then as soon as his smugness had appeared, it gave way to something else — something big and scary and vulnerable. Something less  _ Holy Shit I Did The Thing  _ and more  _ Oh My God This is Cas and We Are Fucking and This is Really Happening… _ It surged through him like a tidal wave, weakening his tough-guy facade and making him feel even more naked than he already was, and… it was just _ a lot,  _ alright? It was a-freakin-lot.

Dean sniffed and plunged his face into the crevice of Cas’ neck. He held on for dear life with Cas’ head in a vice, unwilling to surrender an inch. Instead of being met with a muffled beg for release, he felt Cas’ big, gentle hands cradle his head and smooth down his back — gestures that soothed and comforted, relaxing Dean into a slumped pile of feelings ranging from fondness to scary stuff he only heard about in rom coms.

“So good, so amazing,” Cas said softly against his hair.

The reassurance echoed through Dean’s mind, calming him. It would sound so weird to anyone outside of that room, but sitting on Cas’ cock was up there on the list of most powerful things Dean had ever done. It symbolized not only something he had looked forward to for so long, but a feat Cas might have been skeptical of happening at all. 

Dean blinked away the wetness threatening the edges of his eyes and pulled back enough to be face to face with Cas. “Let’s do this,” he resolved, steadying his legs in preparation for the fun ahead.

He began to move, earning a long, guttural groan out of Cas. Watching his steely facial muscles give way to the rapturous bliss of Dean sliding up and down his shaft, the transition away from effortlessly controlled, was intoxicating. Cas was typically so game-faced, but now, with his cock perfectly enveloped in Dean’s tight heat, that facade melted away. 

Pleasure was all that ruled his features now. His agape mouth left nothing to stop each breathy moan. His eyes warred between squinting shut and remaining fixed on Dean. His brows occasionally furrowed when Dean rolled his hips to break up the monotony of impaling himself on Cas’ cock.

As for Dean, the thickness inside him speared him, held him, with every bounce downward. Time after time he was reminded of Cas’ massive size, but he was drunk on it, needing more and more as seconds turned into minutes. He had never felt so full, so absolutely consumed. 

It was true that sex was mostly mental, but he’d be damned if the rest of the sensations he was swimming in weren’t hurtling him toward the finish line. If using Cas’ cock to hit all his neediest spots wouldn’t have gotten him there, there was also his ridiculously blue eyes staring back at him, a pair of sturdy hands at the small of his back, and the warm space between them, charged with sounds of shameless grunts and wet skin sliding against skin.

He bit his lip in lamentation over his burning thighs. Riding cock was a workout — porn stars didn’t get nearly enough credit — and his rhythm faltered a hair before he clung to Cas’ neck a little tighter and paused to reposition himself. Dean never had a chance to restart. Cas had other ideas.

Pulling Dean’s waist close, Cas leaned forward until Dean landed flat on his back. The abrupt fall startled him, pulling a short gasp out of his already parted lips. Having the pressure taken off his legs was a huge relief, and he relaxed into the new position as Cas plunged into him from above. He was never going to give people shit for missionary ever again.

Dean’s hands found new ground. One clawed at Cas’ back; the other held down his neck as close as possible. He could feel Cas’ hot breath on his skin, feel the rumble of every groan. “Yeah, yeah Cas,” Dean uttered into his ear. “Like that. That’s it.”

A shudder ran through Cas’ body mid thrust. “Dean, so good, so tight on my cock.”

The validation earned a tiny sound out of Dean, but if anyone had asked if it was a whimper, he would have denied it. “This what you imagined all those times in your tech office? Splitting me open, filling my hole?”

“Dean.” Cas’ voice cracked.

“Maybe you pictured me bent over your desk, or sucking you off under it. Tell me, Cas. What did you want back then?”

“This,” he replied through gritted teeth. “Me fucking you in your own bed.”

Dean grinned as he ran his fingers through Cas’ dark hair. He could feel the thrumming of Cas’ cock inside of him, signalling his impending orgasm, as well as the surge of pleasure ripping through his own. “I guess dreams do come true.”

He grimaced at his own corniness, fearful that he had permanently ruined the mood. Instead, Cas let out a choked moan, his whole body halting as warmth spilled into Dean’s hole. Dean’s own member, trapped between their bodies and engorged from the constant friction, responded in kind, pumping spend on their stomachs and creating a slippery surface for the man on top.

Cas’ relaxed muscles, coupled with the pool of Dean’s come, made him slide him a couple of inches downward. He kissed the skin of Dean’s neck and chest as he slipped, his still swollen length held firmly in place in Dean’s ass. 

“Are you going to let me out?” Cas asked with a light chuckle.

“No,” came the snarky reply, like it was already obvious.

In lieu of insisting that they untangle, Cas hummed and laid his head on Dean’s chest. Dean was glad for it. He wasn’t ready to get up and go on with the night, well-planned as it was. This moment was too perfect. How could the evening get any better than this?

The minutes dragged on, Dean’s fingers playing in the hairs at the base of Castiel’s neck, until a phone alarm tore into the peaceful silence that had befallen the room. Cas’ body stretched to reach the bedside table, his softened cock slipping out. Dean exhaled sharply through his nose at the sudden emptiness.

“It’s time,” Cas whispered, turning off the alarm and tossing the phone on the other side of the bed so he could use both hands to hold Dean’s face and plant lazy kisses across his cheeks. Dean squirmed underneath him, unaccustomed to dozens of tiny lovely affirmations at once, but at the same time deciding that he didn’t want them to stop.

“Are my intestines gonna fall outta my ass?”

“Such a romantic,” Cas mumbled with a smirk, rolling off of him. “I’ll do the rest of the food prep. If anyone comes to the door before you’re out, I’ll answer it.”

Dean followed Cas with his eyes as he wandered into the bathroom for towels to wipe themselves off. He definitely had his work cut out for him: learn to walk again, tidy the place up, hide the dildo and lube, get himself dressed… 

_ Knock knock knock. _

“Shit,” Dean hissed, tumbling out of bed. His wobbly legs did him no favors as he scrambled for clothes. One hand held his ass cheeks together, as he still wasn’t totally convinced he could go diaperless after riding Monster Cock.

By the time he found his discarded underwear, Cas was already fully clothed. “Is there spunk in my hair?”   
  


“Wh-what?” The question caught Dean off-guard.

“I said,” Cas repeated, pointing to his head as he did a 360. “Is there spunk in my hair?”

“No.”

“Alright, see you in a few minutes.” Cas gave him a peck on the lips and left, closing the door behind him. Dean stared in that direction for a few seconds, still slightly lost in the afterglow, before remembering himself and focusing wholly on getting himself and the room recovered past the point of anyone suspecting that they just  _ did it _ moments before company showed up.

He emerged from the bedroom flawlessly kept. Hair tamed, the smell of sweaty sex gone, and clothed in a Grateful Dead t-shirt and dark wash jeans. His only giveaway was his suspicious post-fucked gait, which he was quickly schooling into something less obvious. In the meantime he could explain it away as pulling a muscle doing a crazy dance sequence at work with no warm-up beforehand.

Walking into the smell of dinner, Dean was met with the abrupt sight of Claire in his space, chomping on a piece of lasagna and a slice of garlic bread in hand. Her plate lay on the table, where Kaia sat with her portion and abundantly better food manners. Dean stepped around her, even as her scathing glare followed him all the way to the counter, where Cas was plating more food, accompanied by a new face… Jack.

The older teen had a flop of sandy blond hair and baby blue eyes.. He was a polite looking young man, sporting a pleasant smile in greeting. If Dean didn’t know any better, he might have pointed out a family resemblance, but it was more of a matter of mannerisms — a slight squint of the eyes, the way he tilted his head — that he learned to mimic from years of living under Cas’ roof.

“You must be Jack,” Dean said.

“And you must be Dean,” Jack replied, extending his hand.

Already impressed with his manners, Dean shook Jack’s hand to find a firm grip on the boy. It was antiquated to jump to conclusions on one’s character based on a handshake, but damn if Jack wasn’t making it difficult not to. 

So this was the baby Cas saved. 

“It’s good to finally meet you, Jack.”

“You, too.”

Dean took a hot plateful of lasagna and garlic bread, but not until he pressed a soft kiss into Cas’ hair. When he turned to face the rest of the room, Claire was still watching him, but with tension visibly leaving her shoulders. Kaia said something complimentary about Cas’ cooking; he responded with a short but warm thank-you.

“I’m gonna play some tunes,” Dean volunteered after the first hot, flavorful bite. “Cas, I would ask you for the recipe, but… well, y’know.”

“I suppose being in close proximity to me will be the only way you’ll ever have it.”

“The horror,” he mock-deadpanned. Setting the plate and fork down, he reached across the table to dig a Doobie Brothers album out of one of his crates. His record player sat just inside the living room, and he had barely dropped the needle on the spinning vinyl when he spotted wild blonde curls out of the corner of his eye.

“Don’t break his heart,” Claire said, quietly enough to not be heard above the music.

Dean turned to face her, and what softness lacked in her voice showed on her face. “Never,” he swore.

“If you do —”

“You’ll kill me?”

She shrugged. “Something like that. Can neither confirm nor deny. Gotta keep an alibi, y’know?”

Dean nodded. Then he looked down at the empty dust sleeve in his hands, and a wave of intensity washed over him. Some might diagnose it as fondness, but no, it was so much stronger than that. It reached from his head to his toes, called to him in the night, reminded him day after day of one specific person who he chose to take a chance on. 

It was the greatest risk he had ever taken. It had happened so fast and yet, right on time. They had made so much headway, and yet so, so much was left undiscovered. They would discover it all together.  _ Together.  _ The thought made Dean’s insides warm, like they were snuggling him in a fluffy sweater from the inside out. 

The knowledge hit him like a freight train. All this time it had been sneaking up on him, and yet for a long time he knew. But then again, he always did enjoy playing the oblivious card. Maybe he had just been pushing it aside all this time. He couldn’t do that anymore. It was right there, in his face, and he was done pushing it away.

“I think I love him.”

Claire’s eyes got big at his muttered phrase, but she didn’t move until Dean came out of his reverie and glanced at her, then back down at the dust cover he was fidgeting with. She fought to keep her lips smashed together against the smile that tugged at her mouth, but it was for naught. Dean’s brows furrowed in confusion at her reaction; since when did people find humor in the angst-ridden hero’s chick flick moment?

Her barely contained smile gave way to a snort-laugh. “Pretty sure the feeling is mutual. But you didn’t hear it from me.”

She was gone as quickly as she came, with a bounce of hair and a slice of garlic bread in hand. Dean absorbed her words, delayed reaction as it was, and just stood there as the music played. He wasn’t even listening to the lyrics at this point. Again and again,  _ I love him, I love him  _ replayed in his mind, each echo a little more sure than the last. 

And every time they replated, he grew less and less afraid of them. They even started to sound like they belonged, and maybe they always had; he had just been unwilling to let his mind believe it. Whether or not Claire’s supposition was correct was up to time to tell. But one thing he knew: If Charlie was there, she’d give him two thumbs up and tell him, “You got this.”

Dean leaned the dust sleeve against the wall, no sooner about to return to his rapidly cooling plate of food when there was a knock at the door. It could only be one person, and his breath halted for a second as he stared at the closed front door. With rapidly rising anxiety surrounding the person on the other side of the door, Dean took a long breath walked toward the front of the house.

This was it. 

Cracking the door open, just to make sure, Dean was met with a sliver of the face he knew so long ago. It might have been a little older than he remembered, which hit him harder than he ever thought possible, but yes, it was him. Sam Winchester. The last missing piece of Dean’s life had walked back into it at last.

“Sammy!” he exclaimed, instantly shredding half a lifetime’s worth of poise. In that instant, his mind rejected the notion that they were both grown men. In that second it took for him to take in the sight of his brother, Dean was young again, reverting back to the way he’d call him that obnoxious nickname Sam hated so much.

But instead of rolling his eyes, as was his habit way-back-when, a beaming smile rolled across his cheeks. “Dean!” came the instant reply, followed by his body barreling through the door and scooping Dean up into a bear hug.

_ Holy hell, when did Sam get so fucking tall? Dude’s the size of a friggin’ house! _

Dean didn’t realize he was laughing until he needed air, only to have an inhale blocked by the shoulder he was smushed against. He couldn’t care less of his oxygen intake in this monumental moment; he had waited years for this point in time, and breathing was going to have to wait its turn. He held Sam tighter, feeling the hearty thump of Sam’s hands on his back in reply, as if they were checking  _ just to make sure _ it wasn’t a cruel mirage.

“Man, this is… This is crazy,” Sam rambled. “All of this is freaking  _ insane.  _ I can’t believe we work for the same people. How did we not…? Gosh, I’m such an idiot.”

Dean let out a weak cough, his body finally desperate for air. Sam released him, and Dean instantly regretted letting the small noise escape him. “We’ve been over this, Sam. We’re good, remember?”

“I know, it’s just,” he backtracked with a conscience-stricken shake of his head. “Nothing I say is going to give us those years back. I should have listened to you.”

“Yeah, well I should have listened to the cops and gotten the whole story about dad. Instead, I slammed the door in their faces and hated him up until last week.”

Sam’s exhale was laden with every question and declaration lost to time. “We’ve got so much to catch up on, I don’t even know where to start.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean caught a glimpse of midnight brown hair and deep sea blue peeking around the kitchen door frame. Sam was right, they could probably go for hours just filling each other in. There was so much to tell. He wanted to tell Sam about his job and show him the car he was restoring. Most importantly, he wanted to have the talk Cas intended for them to: a long, healthy chat about their dad to stitch up some old wounds and begin again.

He really couldn’t thank Cas enough for the way he had just sort of bulldozed into his life.

Apparently, Dean had gotten Cas out of some sort of rut. He was happy to help, but he was a lot more concentrated on the effect Cas was having on him. Not only was Cas the techie of Dean’s dreams who looked even better than the imagination could dream up; he was actually into him. And he was funding Baby’s restoration. He was cooking in the next room over. Basically just being the most incredible person Dean could ever wish to share life with.

Sam spotted Cas as well, and they shared a wave. Dean smirked. His little brother was right. This whole thing was pretty crazy.

“I know where to start. It involves lasagna.”

“Oh man, I’m starving,” Sam said, and come to think of it, it made perfect sense that Cas made extra. The guy could probably eat a whole one by himself. And far be it from Dean to deny his little brother as much food as he could fit in his belly.

So on they went into the kitchen; for Sam to meet the kids, Dean to get to know Jack better, and the long-ended record to sit in silence with the needle still dropped. Eventually they all congregated into the living room, which seated everyone between Dean’s couch and ottoman. Originally, the plan was to watch an episode of Friends while they ate pie, but by the time they decided on one, the pie was completely gone.

That night would go down in Dean Winchester History as one of his favorites. It would be a long time before all five of their schedules would coincide like that again. On the bright side, it set a habit in motion for Sam to stop by when he could The only times Dean took a little longer to get to the door were the times Sam showed up unannounced while Cas had Dean engaged in other activities.

It was a world of difference from not so long ago. In a matter of months he had Cas, a badass car, his brother, and — dare he think it — a family. Along the way, life had taken many twists and turns, but it had led him here. United after being estranged from Sam for years and getting adopted by a tech nerd and his kids was far from conventional, but so what? His upbringing and vocation weren’t either.

Maybe ordinary wasn’t his style. After all, he had met the love of his life through having a bit of a tech support kink.

Would he have it any other way? Hell no. He was thankful Claire stepped out of the office, getting him “stuck” calling the help desk. He loved every minute speaking with Cas, whether their conversation be strictly business, flirtatious, awkward, sexy, or a combination. He wasn’t even mad at Gabriel anymore for putting him on tech support probation; “absence makes the heart grow fonder”, and all that mushy stuff.

Hell, Dean had even started enjoying when technology screwed up. Once he and Cas started seeing each other regularly, he began to wean himself off the tech calls. Although every once in a blue moon, Claire would make a coffee run right when something “happened” to malfunction.

And although it still sucked that outgoing calls were blocked once a  _ Felix Mori  _ resident went down, it helped to have the whole story. Jack was a reminder of that. Besides, those living within  _ Felix Mori’s  _ walls were living their best lives — at least, what was left of them. If it so happened that they went out with a bang, well… what a way to go.


End file.
